


Ghostly

by Fiathe



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Acceptance, Depression, Future, M/M, Moving On, Past, ghost au, grief and mourning, present, snippets of sex, where do you stand?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 42,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiathe/pseuds/Fiathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where the wind blows, Yoongi goes.<br/>"How much longer do you two think you can play pretend?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1

**Author's Note:**

> Threeshot Yoonmin Ghost AU. 
> 
> The release close to Halloween is purely coincidental and if I did have to put a seasonal label to it, it's more like the Ghosts of Chrimast past, present and future have had some influence in the making of this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Smile for me hyung."

#    
|past|

 

The rain splatters against the pane like gunfire. Jimin lies on his bed, on his back, eyes open and counts each bullet that hits the glass. He wonders if he can wish them into reality so that he could die right now, blood spurting out and staining the bedsheets a wonderful crimson color. His lungs would slowly cease to function and his skin turn pale from oxygen loss, and slowly – beautifully slowly – he would cease to exist.

“Jimin!” comes a faint call and a rapid succession of knocks against his front door. “I’m coming in.”

There’s the gentle beeping sound of the keycode being pressed in, then the door swings open, light casting a fine path into the dark room. Jimin folds a hand over his eyes to block it out.

“Jimin,” Hoseok chides as he enters. A click as the lights are turned on. A rustling as plastic bags are dropped. A soft _snick_ as the fridge door is opened. Hoseok and Seokjin have been alternately doing the shopping and cooking for Jimin to the point that Jimin feels guilty.

Before it all happened he would be up and running to help take the bags off Hoseok and get him something to drink. But now sorrow drowns out everything else.

Jimin feels the soft sink of his mattress as Hoseok slides over the bed and tentatively sits down. He’s still treating Jimin with kid gloves. All of them are. After the incident where Jimin had snapped and thrown his ceramic plate at Seokjin’s head – narrowly missing his cranium by millimeters – they have been treading around him warily.

_What do you mean I should just accept it! He’s not gone. He’s not gone. He’ll be there tomorrow, whining that’s it’s too god-early and that I should shut the curtains and, and, and…_

_He’ll be there in the morning._

_He can’t be anywhere else._

_He can’t be. Yoongi can’t be-_

“You probably haven’t eaten yet, right Jimin?” Hoseok nudges at his shoulder.

“Not hungry,” Jimin mumbles, voice muffled underneath the blankets he’s burrowed into. If he tries, he thinks he can still smell Yoongi on the sheets.

“You should still eat something,” Hoseok says, words soft as a feather’s down. Jimin know his expression right now will be one of despair, frustration that he cannot do anything for Jimin.

There’s lead in Jimin’s belly, heavy, and it drags him down, anchors him to the bed. He knows he should move, to please Hoseok if anything, but his limbs are just too heavy and the thought of peeling himself away feels like he’ll have to rip off his skin to do so.

Hoseok sighs. “I’ve left some food in the microwave. If you feel better later then please heat it up and eat.”

A shift of the sheets and Hoseok is at the door. “Seokjin-hyung says he’ll drop by later tonight to check on you. I have class now, but Jimin-“ There’s a pause. Jimin knows what words unspoken he wants to say. _Please get up Jimin. Please step outside. Please. We miss you. We miss Yoongi too. But Yoongi wouldn’t want this. Yoongi wouldn’t want you to-_

Hoseok exhales harshly. “Please eat,” he says and the door shuts behind him.

*

When Jimin wakes it is still raining. His stomach rumbles but he feels no urge to get up and go to the microwave where he’s sure Hoseok has bought his favorite noodles and left them with an extra-large topping of kimchi, just the way Jimin always likes it. But he should. He really shouldn’t let Hoseok good will go to waste.

Jimin groans and throws aside the bed cover. Goosebumps ripple across his bare arms instantly. He uses this as motivation to get up and shuffle out. His limbs feel waterlogged, disobedient to his will.

He gives himself orders. Maybe he’ll function better that way. _Move to the kitchen. Heat up the food. Eat. Then you can-_

A flicker in the window catches his attention. His head jerks to look, but there’s nothing. Just the falling rain, a veil of whiteness that has enveloped Seoul City. Maybe it was just a bird fleeing for shelter. Or a plastic bag in the wind.

Then it happens again. A sharp flash of white at the edges of his peripheral vision.

Jimin takes half a step forwards, eyes wide and searching. His fingers press into the cold, cold glass but he sees nothing. Just his imagination playing up…

Jimin pulls back, feeling the hollowness in his chest grow again.

There’s the imprint of his fingertips on the pane. They stand out starkly, pressure the evidence of his momentary panic. Jimin watches as they fade slowly, swallowed by the heat of the room and the coolness of the outside and then they-

Stop.

And stay.

A ghost of the imprint indented there, fingertips dug in, palm less prominent. It doesn’t match up to Jimin’s handspan. It’s slightly smaller than his, previously hidden underneath the width of his own hand. But now that has faded and what is left behind is…

Jimin reaches up in a trance like state and wipes across the print with his index finger. It does not smudge.

Face up close, he exhales, and a plume of cloud crawls across the window, marring the fine handprint there. He wipes it away with the heel of his palm and it clears a clean track across save for the fingerprints still pressed there on the other side of the window.

But that is not possible. The studio flat Jimin and Yoongi own is four stories high and there is no balcony outside.

“Hyung?” Jimin whispers and his breath billows. The temperature feels like it has plummeted ten degrees. “Yoongi-hyung?”

His voice is thin and reedy. Jimin wonders if he is going mad.

“Please,” he begs. “If you’re there…”

The handprint fades and so does Jimin’s sanity.

He lets himself crumple to the floor, knees hitting hard on the wooden flooring. He doesn’t feel the pain. The hollowness grows and Jimin wonders: why did Yoongi have to go?

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying till the teardrops hit the floor, tiny patters of rain from the storm inside his heart.

Then, there’s a tap at the window. Jimin looks up slowly, prepared to be disappointed, but instead is met with a fresh handprint that overlays the previous faded one.

And Jimin recognizes them. That palm. Those fingers. The little creases in between. He’s spent nights intertwined with them, days watching them grip pencils and scrawl lyrics across lines, countless hours kissing them.

“Hyung,” he says softly, this time with certainty and steps upwards, one fluid movement that brings his hand to the glass pane. “Come out Yoongi-hyung. Come out please.”

It’s like watching someone emerge from a pool, water spilling down and over a set frame, picking out each feature and plastering it to their very bones. Yoongi appears just like that. Hair flattened to his skull, eyes, nose, lips, the column of his throat which gives way to the breadth of his chest and the stretch of his arm and finally, to his fingers which are pressed against the window pane and underneath Jimin’s hand.

His expression is that of tragedy.

“Don’t look so sad hyung,” Jimin whispers, pressing up as close to the window as he humanely can. As if doing so will let him touch Yoongi.

But he can’t. He knows he can’t.

There’s rain falling down around the two of them, outside, inside, a storm that Jimin thinks won’t cease even when the clouds stop crying.

_It’s raining again. A sky made of grey and navy and all shades of what has been lost. Jimin stands there, not feeling the cold, but feeling a chill far worse envelope his entire body._

_“Jimin! Get inside!” someone shouts._

_He doesn’t move. He can’t move._

_Jimin’s not too sure who is calling out to him. Everything else is a blur but that one spot of focus._

_A sprawled body. A dash of red._

_Someone slaps Jimin hard across the face. Jimin staggers backwards with the blow and looks up to see Seokjin, face pale, chest heaving. “Go inside Jimin,” he says, clearly working hard to keep his voice level, to keep the terror at bay. “Hoseok, go with him.”_

_“But-“_

_“Go!” Seokjin snaps and Seokjin so rarely ever raises his voice that Hoseok obeys instantly. There’s a hand that tugs at Jimin, guiding him indoors like a lost sheep and then a soft towel that dries him. But even warm and dry, the trembling doesn’t stop._

_Jimin can hear still hear the sirens ringing in his ear._

_“Jimin,” Hoseok is saying but it’s faded, like background music. “Jimin!”_

_He can still see the scene imprinted on the back of his eyelids. A fallen body, a car hurriedly skidded to a halt. Yoongi had only been a pace behind him. And now... Now he’s…_

Yoongi smiles sadly and looks to their joined hands, separated only by a window and a world.

“Smile for me hyung,” Jimin all but begs. Yoongi can only offer him a downturned smile.

 _I can’t you idiot_ , he seems to say with his eyes alone. _I can’t, because I’m dead._

*

Yoongi doesn’t remember dying much. One moment he was walking behind Jimin who had spinning his umbrella, flicking water all over Yoongi’s shoulder to the point that he had rolled his eyes and taken a step backwards, having given up on staying dry. He held out a hand and watched as water had trickled through his fingers.

He hadn’t even seen the car coming, skidding across slicked tar. All he had seen was the bright shine of head lights and knew that it was heading right for Jimin. Instinct had overridden logic and the last thing Yoongi remembers is the warmth of Jimin’s wrist under Yoongi’s grasp and the sound of tyres screeching. Rain and burnt rubber filled the air.

The next moment Yoongi had opened eyes to cold rain. Only, he couldn’t feel the cold anymore.  

It had taken him a good few minutes to realize that something was wrong. Time seemed different. The people are him were different. He felt like he had woken to a different age.

It hadn’t been a different age, but time had passed, that much was clear.

He had died and awoken at the very same spot.

Yoongi had turned, ninety degrees, his body’s rusty cogs slowly grinding back to normality. There to the east, the studio apartment that he had lived in alone throughout his first two university years until Park Jimin had stumbled into his life.

He couldn’t help but go.

Jimin had been sitting on the floor, back to the wall and staring into space. Yoongi had squatted down to eye level, but almost immediately had leapt backwards. The dull pair of eyes that had stared back had scared him. They were glassy, like the fish on sale at market, iced over and black like oil. His hair was a mess and his clothes rumpled as if he had been wearing them for days.

Jimin had looked half dead himself.

Yoongi couldn’t help it. Instinct moved him to reach over and cup a hand around Jimin’s cheek, a gesture borne of habit and intimacy. But before he could make contact, there was a voice.

“You shouldn’t do that,” someone said and Yoongi whipped around.

“Who are you?” Yoongi had asked warily, subconsciously shifting his body to shield Jimin.

The man had raised both hands amicably. “My name is Namjoon,” he had said. “I sensed a fellow Ghost in the area and thought I’d pop in to see who it was.” 

“Ghost...?” Yoongi echoed hollowly. He stared down at his hands. It was only then that his body wavered, skin there one second and the next he could see through to bone, the slim lengths that bent and crooked as he flexed them. And then skin and cartilage had returned and his hand was normal. As normal as a human hand may seem.

“What does this mean?” Yoongi had whispered, feeling faint.

“It means we should not be interacting with the living,” Namjoon had said bluntly. “We are dead and so we have no right to interfere with the living.”

Yoongi had looked back at Jimin, still hunched over, hands limp in his lap. “I can’t just leave him like this,” he said fiercely.

“You have to,” Namjoon had said sternly. His eyes were like beacons, warning Yoongi against any ill action. “There are consequences if you make yourself known to him.”

Yoongi’s eyes sharpened. “Which means I can.”

Namjoon exhaled, frustrated. “You can,” he admitted. “But like I said, you shouldn’t. We’re ghosts. We’re stuck in the past. But they,” he gestured to Jimin. “They’re alive, flesh and pumping blood, and we have no right to tie them down.”

Yoongi’s eyes flickered.

Namjoon read the indecision there. He let out a small sigh, knowing his words were unlikely to be heeded. “Think it over,” he said shortly. “Just know that I’m saying this for your own good. Nothing comes well of the dead meddling with the living.”

 _I know it because I’ve seen it,_ his eyes seemed to say.

He gave one short nod to Yoongi, and then he was gone. Vanished with the wind.

Yoongi had taken his words to heart and chose to spend the next few days simply watching Jimin. Not that Jimin changed much. He mostly sat there, or lay in their bed, eyes staring not at the walls but at something beyond.

Hoseok and Seokjin dropped in every hour or so, sometimes alone, sometimes together.

From their brief chats he gathered that he had died over two weeks ago. In that interval his wake had been held and police reports resolved.

Initially Jimin had been placed on a round-the-clock monitor. His parents had called every day. Hoseok and Seokjin had slept over in turns, fitfully waking up every now and then. But time had showed that Jimin held no suicidal tendencies and a doctor had recommended slowly giving him space and independence.

But Jimin just sat there, a soulless puppet.

Yoongi wanted to change that. But he didn’t know how.

And then he had slipped up. Had seen Jimin move of his own volition for the first time in days and it had excited him. Yoongi had stepped forwards, hands pressed to the window eyes wide so as to not miss a thing. He was doing it! He was getting better. He could-

Jimin had turned, eyes sharp and drawn as always to Yoongi. Yoongi had stumbled back. He wasn’t supposed to see him. Wasn’t supposed to sense him. The dead were not meant to meddle with the living.

“Hyung?”

Jimin’s voice had been rough with disuse, but it was still that wavering high pitch of uncertainty and fear and Yoongi wanted to wrap his arms around it.

Jimin was on his knees and Yoongi couldn’t help but press his hands against the window pane again, the urge to touch him and comfort him too strong.

And Jimin could see him. See him for what he was.

“Come out Yoongi-hyung.”

“Don’t be so sad Yoongi-hyung.”

“Smile for me hyung.”

Oh Yoongi wishes he could. But he can’t. He really can’t.

Because he’s dead. And Jimin is alive.

And it’s as simple as that.

 


	2. Act 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes to love is to leave."

# |present|

For some reason once Yoongi makes himself visible to Jimin he becomes almost human. He can touch Jimin, feel human warmth and even starts yawning and sneezing just like any other normal person would. His chest rises and falls, his nose twitches, and occasionally he gets the hiccups.

One thing he can’t do is speak.

“Hyung!” Jimin chirps as he kicks the front door close with one foot, hands full with three loaded shopping bags. “What do you want for dinner? I wasn’t too sure so I bought a bit of everything. I’ve got the kimchi you love though!”

Yoongi greets him with a nod and takes the plastic bags off him, giving Jimin the chance to kick of his shoes and change into comfier sweatpants and a shirt. 

Things Yoongi can do: eat.

Despite not actually being a living and breathing human with pumping blood and a working gastrointestinal system, Yoongi can somehow ingest stuff. Nothing comes out of the other end (which is slightly disturbing), and everything just seems to vanish into a void that is his stomach, which is a little strange but adjustable if Yoongi stops thinking about the intricacies of it all.

Things Yoongi can’t do: get hungry.

There’s the cheerful rustling off plastic bags as Jimin rushes about their tiny kitchenette, boiling water and banging around saucepans. A strong smell of instant noodles and MSG fills the air almost instantly, but it doesn’t trigger the basal instinct of hunger in Yoongi. Once upon a time this was the only thing that could lure him away from the computer screen when he was deeply engrossed in music and work. Now, it’s nothing more than another smell in the air.

Things Yoongi can do: make Jimin happy.

Ever since that rainy night, Jimin has cheered up immensely. He takes showers on time, eats without being prompted, and even leaves the house voluntarily. He doesn’t seem to care that Yoongi is a ghost or that their situation is completely out of whack or anything. All that matters to him is that Yoongi is back and that is enough to make him smile.

 _Brat_. Yoongi smacks Jimin on the back of his head with the thick end of a pair of chopsticks and feels completely justified.

“What was that for hyung?” Jimin whines, turning and pouting. Yoongi shoves him to one side and begins stirring the ramen. He still doesn’t trust Jimin with the stove.

Jimin instead turns to one of the plastic bags, digging out an ungodly amount of kimchi.

“Open up hyung,” he says and Yoongi automatically does so, more out of habit than hunger. “Is it good hyung?” he asks with a bright gleam in his eyes.

Yoongi chews on the kimchi and nods. Jimin gives him a bright smile and starts humming to himself as he dishes out more kimchi into a bowl. Yoongi returns to stirring the noodles and keeps his head down.

Things Yoongi can’t do: make himself happy.

To be happy he would have to tell the truth. And to tell the truth would be to make Jimin unhappy. So he keeps quiet and stirs the contents of the pot and inhales the smells that no longer mean anything to him. Picks up a strand of noodle and just for the act of doing so, puts it in his mouth.

Yoongi doesn’t have the heart to tell Jimin that he can’t taste anything anymore.

*

They’re lying in bed together; Jimin completely curled around Yoongi’s frame, when Yoongi discovers that he cannot sleep either.

He lies there with one hand raised to the ceiling and wonders, for as many things that he can do, just how many more things are there that he cannot do?

*

It’s a fine sunny day when they hit their first hurdle since Yoongi’s return. It’s rare to have such a day when the year is encroaching on winter, September sun giving way to October’s colder clutch. Yoongi is out with Jimin at the park. It’s early morning and no one is around.

Jimin’s doing laps, something about not exercising for a while and so he needs to build back up his stamina. Yoongi stands there in jeans and a jacket and watches him go at it.

One of the better benefits of being a ghost is that Yoongi doesn’t feel the cold anymore, so he can get away with wearing thin layers. In addition, he’s also discovered that other than Jimin, no one else seems to be able to see him, so his dress sense goes unbothered by public eyes. Whether it’s because Yoongi doesn’t want them to see him or that they just can’t, he’ll never really know. Regardless he’s thankful of the privacy ghosthood gives him.

As long as Jimin can see him, then that’s enough.

Yoongi watches as Jimin stops at the other end of the tiny park to catch his breath, his hands falling to his knees for support. Through habit he looks up and catches sight of Yoongi watching him. He breaks into a broad grin and jumps, waving crazily, yelling “Hyung!” as loud as he can so that his voice carries across. It makes a woman walking her dog jump and stare at him like he’s lost his marbles. Yoongi can’t help but laugh and take a step forwards, intending to walk over and meet Jimin halfway.

But then Jimin’s expression melts. Yoongi’s halts. Sunlight shines down brightly where he stands and Yoongi has to squint to make out Jimin’s look of panic.

Jimin meets him at more than the halfway mark.  “Hyung? Yoongi-hyung?” he gasps, hands flying about, nearly running past Yoongi in his state “Where are you?”

 _I’m right here idiot,_ Yoongi wants to say. But he can’t. Instead he lunges out and grabs Jimin’s passing arm, yanking him to a stop before he runs right past Yoongi.

“Hyung?” Jimin’s eyes are wild, pupils huge with fear. His head jerks back and forth. His free hand comes up to clasp around Yoongi’s wrist. “I can feel you hyung. Why can’t I see you?”

Eh? What? Jimin can’t see him?

“Hyung?” Jimin looks like he’s going into a state of shock, chest heaving in increasing frequency and pupils that are starting to dilate. “Don’t go hyung. Don’t disappear. Please.”

 _I’m here!_ Yoongi wants to shout. _Right here. You can feel me right? You can touch me right? So why can’t you see me?_

Sweat trickles down Jimin’s temple and it has nothing to do with the simple physical exertion.

“Hyu-“

Yoongi surges forwards and presses his lips to Jimin’s cold and chapped ones. They haven’t done this since Yoongi’s return. Kissing, touching, none of that has mattered in light of Yoongi’s return. But if the slide of his lips over Jimin’s is enough to convince him that he is going nowhere then he will damn well do it without a second thought of the divide between the living and the dead.

It feels like it’s been years, not just three weeks since Yoongi last did this. Last dragged his tongue over Jimin’s bottom lip and relished in the way it springs back up against his lips. Last kissed him without worrying about if a Ghost has the right to kiss.

 “Hyung,” Jimin pants into his mouth as he stumbles under the weight of Yoongi’s frantic pushing, falling back into the bark of a tree. It grates fine white lines into his wrists, just above the jut of his bone and his biceps flex in response, forcing Yoongi’s fingers to mould around their shape.

 “Hyung!” Jimin says again, more urgently this time and Yoongi pauses. There’s an ache in his chest and it has nothing to do with physical pain. “I can see you again,” Jimin says and holds Yoongi away at arm’s length.

Yoongi pauses and looks to his hands. They don’t look any different than they were a few kisses ago.

“What happened hyung,” Jimin whispers, despair written all over. “Are you…are you vanishing?”

 _Vanishing?_ Yoongi mouths back.

“I mean,” Jimin hedges, “You know all those stories about ghosts and such. That they only hang around because they’ve got unfinished business. And that when it’s all said and done they just…disappear…” His body tenses, like he’s imaging it happening and simultaneously trying to reject the possibility.

Yoongi takes a step backwards – to give Jimin space, to give himself space – and Namjoon’s words ring eerily in his head: _You can’t stay here forever_.

Jimin makes a choking noise again.

“Hyung,” Jimin says in small, staggered phrases. “You’ve vanished again.”

 _What? No? I haven’t-_ Yoongi steps forwards, his intent to reach out for Jimin’s arm again, and as he does so he comes under the shade of the tree and Jimin’s eyes round with relief.

“Hyung,” Jimin says slowly, slightly calmer this time, though his hand still wraps firmly around Yoongi’s wrist. “Take a step back again. Into the sunlight.”

Yoongi does, puzzled.

He watches as Jimin pales again the minute he steps into the full glare of the sun’s rays. He stares down at his hands. They look no different. Maybe slightly more translucent than usual, but is that something to be worried about? He is a ghost after all.

“Now step forwards,” Jimin continues in a trembling voice.

Yoongi does so and the exhale Jimin gives in relief speaks volumes. “Sunlight hyung,” Jimin breathes. His hands tug Yoongi forwards into the safety of the shadows. “You vanish under direct sunlight.”

Yoongi is dumbfounded. Is that even possible? That under the too strong glare of the sun above he cannot be seen, not even by Jimin?

Jimin buries his face into Yoongi’s neck as if he’s trying to slip right into Yoongi’s skin and anchor the two of them together. “Please don’t disappear on me again,” he begs, arms wrapping tightly about Yoongi’s waist like he never wants to let him go again.

Yoongi folds his arms around Jimin’s back and presses his nose into the base of Jimin’s hair where he imagines he can still smell that scent that is wholly Park Jimin. It’s warm and fuzzy and _cleansing_ and it reminds Yoongi of the sun and the sky.

“Please don’t leave me behind,” Jimin whispers into his skin and Yoongi closes his eyes and wishes he could tell him, _I won’t, I promise._

*

The next few days are either cloudy or raining and Yoongi has shown no signs of disappearing since.

Yoongi has discovered that he vanishes not only under strong sunlight, but under bright artificial lights as well. Conversely he stands out the clearest in shadows where light is at its weakest. The best is when it’s just the two of them at home with the living room lights on low and their bodies tangled together on the sofa, some old sappy drama on the TV that neither of them are paying attention to.

Jimin sleeps well knowing that Yoongi is simply there.

Yoongi does not.

Jimin’s sunlight/vanishing theory may be correct, but Yoongi doesn’t think that automatically makes things okay. Jimin’s a bright kid, but but he’s never been the one to see the pit holes in his way. Yoongi on the other hand spots them from a mile away.

It’s October now. Winter is setting in – days of grey and rain and snow. But it won’t always be that way. Yoongi stares at the calendar above his old work desk that used to be filled with scribbles of when Jimin had a basketball match, or when his next paper was due. Now it’s empty. White spaces. Blank voids. Jimin has no reason to leave the house and neither does he.

It will be November in five days. December in a month. A seasonal shift in two or three. And when spring comes, Yoongi may have to go.

*

There’s a rap on the door that wakes Jimin from his light doze. He peers around and his heart does a little shocked flip when he doesn’t see Yoongi at first. Then, there he is. Yoongi is tucked away in the corner behind the sofa. It’s his favorite place, a solid wall behind his back and a world beyond the window at his fingertips. Right now Yoongi has his laptop balanced on stretched out legs and headphones turned on loud. His eyes are closed and he’s bobbing to some beat which prevents him from hearing the knock at the door.

Jimin however does. He shifts off his bed just in time to see Seokjin enter.

“Hey hyung,” he greets Seokjin.

Seokjin stares at him and drops his plastic bag to the floor with a loud thump.

“Jimin!” he says and rushes forwards, hands gripping his shoulder as if he doesn’t believe this is the real Jimin and not some doppleganger. “Are you okay? Why are you out of bed?”

“You want me to go back in?” Jimin asks with a raised brow. His hyung is always confusing.

“Well no,” Seokjin fumbles and takes his hands off Jimin, using them instead to smoothen down the front of his shirt that he’s just rumpled up.  He’s flustered, and he’s thoroughly bewildered. Both show.

“Are you okay?” he decides on asking in the end. He peers at Jimin like he already doubts Jimin’s answer.  

“I’m fine hyung,” Jimin says energetically as he steals a glance at Yoongi’s tapping foot. “Perfect even.”

Seokjin makes a noncommittal sound and looks absolutely unconvinced. But Seokjin can’t deny that smile. It’s wide and cheerful and it throws him off completely. Well, um, that’s great?”

Jimin tilts his head, puzzled. “What’s wrong hyung?”

Seokjin jumps. He scratches his head. How should he explain this? “It’s just,” he says hesitantly. “Are you really okay? I mean I know what happened was tough…and it’s not even been a month, but Jimin, you- you don’t need to act strong for us.”

Jimin beams. It’s just like Seokjin to worry, even when given straightforward, blunt answers. “I’m fine hyung. I really am.”

Seokjin stares. “But…how..?” he says, sounding completely floored. “How can you be so…upbeat?”

Jimin frowns, puzzled. “Why can’t I hyung?”

Sweat trickles down Seokjin’s temple. “Because Yoongi’s dead Jimin. And somehow you’re okay with that?”

Jimin stumbles. “You’re wrong,” he shakes his head, anger growing thick like storm clouds. “Hyung’s not gone. He’s still here!”

Fear floods Seokjin’s face and Jimin can read it on every wrinkle in his brow, in the widened white expanse of his iris. Seokjin doesn’t believe him. Thunder pours throughout Jimin’s bloodstream. How dare Seokjin deny Yoongi’s existence?

Jimin grabs Seokjin’s wrist in a vice-like grip so tight that his fingernails will leave behind crescent claw marks that Seokjin will later rub as he bites his lower lip and tries to calm his sprinting heart. But right now Jimin drags Seokjin forwards and around the sofa.

“There!” he points, letting go of Seokjin. “Look!”

He points to the laptop floating just off the ground and the headphones in mid-air. Seokjin’s eyes round and Jimin has the grim satisfaction that he has proved his point.

“What is this Jimin?” Seokjin whispers, taking half a step backwards.

Yoongi stares at Seokjin, his hand paused above the touch pad on the laptop. The music rings out relentlessly from his slipped headphones, looping again and again, unaware of the sudden tension in the air.

“Jimin?” Seokjin says again, voice trembling. “Explain this.”

“Hyung isn’t dead,” Jimin says flatly. “He’s right there. You can’t see him, but he’s here. So don’t you dare say that I’m happy because I’ve gotten over him. That’s impossible. I’m happy because hyung came back to me.”

Seokjin shakes his head, slowly at first, then harder, like the one he’s trying to convince is not Jimin but himself. “Jimin, I think you should come stay with me for the weekend,” he says in a stony voice. Authoritative almost.

Jimin’s breath hitches. “What?” his eyes narrow. “I’m not leaving Yoongi-hyung.”

Seokjin jerks his head as the headphones clatter loudly to the floor. The tension in the air is so heavy that this singular sound feels magnified. Jimin looks to see Yoongi rise to one knee, eyes fixed onto Seokjin’s figure.

 _Seokjin_ , he mouths.

Seokjin reacts by turning away, towards Jimin instead. “You’re hallucinating,” he says firmly. “Yoongi is dead and you need to get out of this house.” His words are cold and harsh, a blade cutting straight to the heart of it, through muscle and sinew and spurting blood.

Jimin withdraws away from Seokjin. “I’m not hallucinating,” he says confidently “I can see him. I know you can’t hyung, but you can see the laptop and the headphones and you know that something is there. Yoongi may be dead but he is not gone.”

Seokjin slaps him hard. Jimin rocks back with the force of it and Yoongi is half off the ground, running to him as he falls, the laptop discarded to one side and the tinny sound of the music looping again, faint beats in the background.

Seokjin chest heaves, laboring for breath. He rarely gets this worked up and Yoongi is scared. He doesn’t want to admit it but an angry Seokjin scares the hell out of him.

Jimin however doesn’t look scared. He looks the opposite. Angry. Defiant. Betrayed.

“Get out of here hyung,” he growls in a tone that is wholly un-Jimin-like and Yoongi feels fear ripple through him again, a cold stone that sinks to the bottom of his stomach. Jimin should not be snarling. Seokjin should not be violent. Something is wrong here. Something is wrong with this world that they stand in.

“No,” Seokjin responds flatly. “Not unless you come with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jimin snarls, one hand clasped to the bruise blossoming on his cheek. “I’m not leaving Yoongi-hyung behind.”

Fury fills Seokjin’s eyes, so uncharacteristic of him. Yoongi tenses, frightened that Seokjin is going to lose all control. His mind instinctively rolls through a hundred ways of how to defend Jimin bodily. But then a thought overruns the current, electric and wild. Can he even defend Jimin? Sure he can touch Jimin, but what about Seokjin? If no one other than Jimin can see then, then can no one other than Jimin touch him?

The door beeps and opens. Hoseok enters and promptly freezes.

“What’s going on here guys?” he asks in a wavering voice, eyes taking in the scene of Jimin on the ground with his hand to his cheek and Seokjin towering over him, eyes dark and guns blazing.

“Hyung? Jimin?”

Seokjin lets his shoulders drop. He turns away and walks towards Hoseok. “Do me a favor Hoseok,” he says quietly, his hands fisted at his sides. “Take Jimin out for a walk.”

“Eh?”

“Hyung!” Jimin yells and pushes himself off the ground, jerking Yoongi to one side. Yoongi stumbles and falls.

“Go Jimin,” Seokjin orders, not looking at him. “I’m not going to make you stay with me tonight, so in exchange give me ten minutes.”

Jimin pauses. “Ten minutes?”

Hoseok too is confused. “Ten minutes to do what hyung?”

Seokjin doesn’t look at either of them. “Ten minutes please,” he says. “I need to have a little chat with someone here.”

Jimin and Yoongi simultaneously freeze. Could he…?

Hoseok gives a tight little nod and uses Jimin’s momentary lapse to take him by the shoulders and steer him out the door. Jimin doesn’t go quietly, but Hoseok is wiry strength hidden in a lean body.

Seokjin gives him a grateful look and Hoseok just closes the door behind them. He knows that there is no trying with Seokjin when he is like this. Better to do as he asks now and grill him on the details later.

Seokjin is the most unselfish person he has met in his life and therefore Hoseok trusts Seokjin with his life.

The door closes, cutting out Jimin’s protests, and Yoongi stares at Seokjin who looks right back at him. Right in the eye.

 _You see me,_ Yoongi says even though no words come out, but if it did, it would be in a tone of horror.

Seokjin gives one grave nod. “Yeah,” he says. “I see you Yoongi.”

*

Yoongi is so stunned that his mind goes completely blank.

How? How can Seokjin see him? Does that mean his theory that only Jimin can see and touch him is wrong? He reaches out with one trembling hand for Seokjin’s arm that is right in front of him, pale wrists hidden by the long sweaters he favors when the weather show the first sign of winter’s chill. As he touches it his hand slips and goes right through.  

Seokjin watches his experiment with unchanging eyes.

Yoongi is shaking as he retracts his hand. His fingers seem to vanish as they go through Seokjin, as if the very molecules that make up his composition refuse to hold him together in the face of something greater. Something more real.

Something alive.

Yoongi’s non-existence heart thuds, a dead bass beat that signals a grittier undertone, a stony retreat towards the end of a song.

“You’re not alive Yoongi,” Seokjin says gently. “And that’s why you can’t stay here.”

Yoongi falls backwards against the wall, and that feels solid enough. But then the minute he starts thinking about ‘solidity’ and ‘aliveness’, the wall seems to shudder and the heel of his hand slips through the wall.

Seokjin watches impassively, neither holding out a helping hand nor making it any worse.

“You’re here because Jimin couldn’t bear to let you go. But Yoongi,” Seokjin’s eyes soften though his words do not, “This can’t last forever. The longer you stay, the more you hold him back. You can’t do that to Jimin.”

Yoongi’s whole body is practically vibrating now. He’s shaking so much that he feels the bones in his body rattle. What is Seokjin saying? That Yoongi is in the way? That he’s an obstacle to Jimin? That he should go?

“I love you Yoongi,” Seokjin says softly and Yoongi snaps his head up to stare at Seokjin. The look he gives Yoongi is painfully pitying. “But I love Jimin too. And since I can do nothing more you, I will have to do everything for Jimin instead.”

Yoongi takes another step backwards and his entire leg disappears through the wall. He jerks down and stares at him and then it hits him. He’s fading. He looks paler than usual, almost transparent.

“Just do us all a favor Yoongi and move on.”

Horror pours all over Yoongi like paint dripping from his head to his toes. It’s cold and it feels like raw egg, slimy and smooth all at once. His muscles are locked and there is cold sweat.

Except he’s dead. He shouldn’t be feeling anything remotely like sweat or eggs or cold fear. He’s dead. And he’s holding Jimin back.

_Nothing comes well from meddling with the living._

Yoongi takes a proper look at Seokjin’s expression. He’s not angry or sad. His lips are painted downturn with sympathy and his eyes shine with honesty. He truly thinks it is in the best interest of everyone if Yoongi is gone. And that’s scary. Really, really scary.

It means that like Namjoon said, his interference is not doing anyone a favor.

White leaks in and Yoongi doesn’t know what he should be doing anymore. His mind is a cold winter space with Namjoon’s words echoing and Seokjin’s eyes staring. Yoongi doesn’t know what’s wrong and what’s right anymore.

He chokes on a silent sob and folds in on himself.

He has no idea what to do. So he flees.

*

Yoongi has no idea where he is, nor how he got here. All he knows is that the air is filled with the scent of dead leaves and peat and Jimin is not there. 

“I told you before, didn’t I?” he says, and Yoongi doesn’t have to turn to know it is Namjoon who is speaking. His tone isn’t one of self-satisfaction, just sadness that he could not prevent this from happening. There is a taste of failure on his lips and Yoongi wants to cry. Only he can’t.

Crying is for the living.

“You could come with me,” Namjoon says quietly, a gentle offer with feathered wings. Yoongi turns, surprised.

“Go with you to where?” Yoongi echoes.

Namjoon looks up, head tilted back, the sharp line of his jaw prominent. “Where else do ghosts go?”

Yoongi follows the train of his gaze. It’s a long way up and all he can see is white. He looks down and realizes that the world around him is white as well. White cloud or fog, whatever it is, it cloaks his vision so that he can see is Namjoon and his offer.

“Move on yourself if you’re so scared,” Yoongi snaps cockily, the words voiced before he even realizes what he’s just said.

Namjoon looks mildly surprised. “What?”

 “I-“ Yoongi halts before his mouth can spurt anything else offensive

“You want to stay by that boy’s side so badly?” Namjoon asks out of pure curiosity.

Yoongi closes his mouth and nods. There are no words to express the emotions that well up and overflow. He wants to stay. He wants to hold Jimin. Be by his side. Hug him. Kiss him. Grow up with him. Encourage him. Watch over him. Die with him.

Except that last one is already a moot point.

“I felt that way once,” Namjoon confesses. “There was this guy I loved – still love – and he meant everything to me. One day I died and his feelings brought me back to this world.”

“Just like me,” Yoongi says softly.

Namjoon nods. “Just like you.” He heaves a sigh. “And just like you two we thought it would work out. That even though I was dead, I came back, and just from that little miracle we could make things work.”

 “What happened?” Yoongi can’t help but ask, can’t help but nudge open the creaky door to a story that he knows does not have a happy ending.

They rarely do.

“We were wrong of course. The dead aren’t meant to co-exist with the living. He was moving on and I was stuck still. My very existence was hurting him.”

Yoongi’s voice cracks as he asks the red hot question. “What did you do?”

Namjoon gives him that sad smile, lips pressed together and uplifted ends that don’t quite reach his eyes. It’s a forced smile and it makes Yoongi’s heart sink like a ten ton weight. “I left him of course.”

*

Jimin kicks the ground rebelliously. He knows he is acting like a five year old but there’s petulant anger still roiling in his chest and he has to vent it out.

Hoseok watches him quietly, hands tucked deep into jean pockets. He doesn’t know what is going between Seokjin and Jimin, but he knows that the only thing that would break Jimin out of his month long stupor and make Seokjin raise his voice is Yoongi.

With both of them, anger is rare, tiny embers that require a large storm to fan into fire. And when they do get angry, it’s the sort of fierce ignition that makes everyone back off immediately.

The truth is that Hoseok doesn’t know Seokjin or Jimin quite as well as he knows Yoongi. Once upon a time they were thick as thieves, childhood friends buried deep into the realm of music. They had made a solemn swear to make it big, and once mandatory high school was over they moved to the big city to make it real.

Then things changed.

It was nothing movie sort dramatic. It was just that as time passed Hoseok realized his passion lay in dance whereas Yoongi found himself falling into the thickly layered world of composition.

Hoseok made friends with a local dance crew. Yoongi immersed himself into production.

Hoseok moved out. Yoongi stayed.

Slowly they were being tugged into two opposite directions.

They still met up from time to time and had dinner and laughed about the old times, but things were subtly different now. It was like they stood on two separate planes, one just a fraction higher than the other. They could still see eye to eye, but the difference was just enough to mean that they no longer connected in the same way that they used to.

Then Yoongi met Jimin at some basketball court and Hoseok bumped into Seokjin and the two levels diverged further.

Yoongi and Jimin have always danced on the same level. It doesn’t show easily to a stranger who cannot understand the finer tunings of Yoongi’s every expression and habits, but it shines as clear as day to Hoseok. Yoongi likes to make fun of Jimin with his satori drawl but Hoseok knows that is something exclusive to the one private to his heart. Yoongi frequently pretends to revoke skinship with the younger but it just makes Hoseok smile because he knows it’s simply Yoongi trying not to get too touchy feely else he never stop touching.

Hoseok can see the way Yoongi is intuitively bound to Jimin. Jimin moves and Yoongi follows. He’s a moon to Jimin’s gravity and it’s beautiful to watch their interplay.

Seokjin on the other hand is a solitary planet. He revolves around no one and no one moves to his beat.

Hoseok had learnt that quickly the moment he had first met Seokjin at a cemetery, Seokjin dressed all in black for his dead lover. He hadn’t brought flowers. Only himself. Hoseok had thought it fitting. The dead after all have no need for aesthetic values.

_“Hello,” Hoseok had said, the words flowing from his mouth unwittingly. Seokjin had been a stranger back then, marble cut and stone smooth and Hoseok had no idea what possessed him to speak to this mysterious stranger._

_Seokjin had looked up, tear stains on his cheeks. “H-hello?” he had said, taken aback back the sudden conversation._

_“I’m Hoseok,” Hoseok had pushed through despite all the misgivings he had. “Jung Hoseok.”_

_“I’m…Kim Seokjin,” Seokjin had replied, stifling another sniff. “Can I…help you?”_

_Hoseok had given him an encouraging smile, the sort he knew people who had just lost someone they had loved needed. “Not really. It’s just…I saw you and thought, that maybe I could help you?”_

_Seokjin had stared._

_“I’m sorry,” Hoseok had apologized almost immediately, giving a nervous little chuckle. “It probably sounds really weird but it’s just… I saw you, and you looked really sad, and I kind of understand what you’re going through so…” He faltered._

_“So?” Seokjin said encouragingly._

_Hoseok had swallowed and summoned up the courage to finish. “So I just wondered if there was anything I could do for you to make you feel better?”_

_Seokjin had given a small little laugh. It had burst out from his lips unbidden. Hoseok hadn’t been quite sure how to respond._

_“I’m sorry,” Seokjin had said, wiping away the tears and standing up. “It’s just been a while since I’ve last talked to someone whose first words weren’t ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ or anything of the sort.”_

_Hoseok had given a bemused smile. “Those words tend to suck, don’t they?”_

_Seokjin nodded, smiling a little wider. “You know what?” he said suddenly. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”_

_“Eh? What offer?” Hoseok had backtracked, suddenly at loss with their thread of conversation._

_Seokjin had laughed. Full bodied and warm. “The one where you asked if you could help me,” he said chortling. “And yeah, you can. Take me out for dinner. All I’ve had for weeks is my mom’s super healthy home cooking. I’m tired of being babied and expected to cry. I want something so greasy and unhealthy it’s going to make my hair fall out.”_

_Hoseok had choked on his laughter. “I can’t promise making your hair fall out, but I can suggest a really spicy place that will make you cry tears of defeat.”_

_Seokjin had smiled, so wide that it had hurt. “You’re on,” he had said, and had followed Hoseok out and away from the tombstones of grey._

So maybe it had started with the notion of romantic attraction, but unlike Jimin and Yoongi who were living in the present, Hoseok had quickly learnt that Seokjin still had one foot stuck in the past.

One month after Seokjin had moved in with Hoseok – Seokjin’s suggestion – and that had become as clear as day.

Things that Hoseok learnt about Seokjin: he had a hundred different faces, each equally a part of Kim Seokjin, each equally not.

There was the Seokjin who had smiled and taken up his offer for dinner. Then there was the Seokjin who was as sharp as winter’s chill, closed in and cold. And when snow melted there came a different Seokjin who would smile a smile that didn’t feel quite like a smile.

Other things that Hoseok learnt about Seokjin: his moods were as fluctuating as the wind.

At times Seokjin would be bright and bubbly, scolding Hoseok for not cleaning up or attending his classes on time. At other times he would be quieter, more pensive and cagey. Hoseok had caught Seokjin more than once staring into the distance as if he could see something no one else could. And when Hoseok would tap his shoulder he would turn, eyes wide and a sharp tongue ready to lash out until he had realized it was just Hoseok and deflated.

Hoseok has brought this up one or twice with Seokjin, worried for his hyung’s wellbeing. Seokjin’s response had been to ask if Hoseok believed in ghosts.

Hoseok had said, _I’m not sure, but I don’t think so,_ and that had killed the conversation there and then.

It’s at times like these when Jimin is quiet and Seokjin is loud that he wonders if he should have said something different, just so he could hear what Seokjin could have said instead.

But time has passed since their first meeting. Spring has slipped into summer and evaporated into fall, and throughout the course of three seasons Hoseok has easily learnt that he is but a passing asteroid, fated to never make contact. All he can do is watch and worry.

“Hyung!” is all the warning he gets as a chestnut haired blur cannon balls into his side and Hoseok goes flying.

“Taehyung!” Hoseok moans from the floor and opens his eyes to see a hazelnut pair blink right back at him.

“Hey hyung,” Taehyung grins crazily from atop him.

“You’re heavy. Move.” Hoseok shoves him off and Taehyung goes rolling, continuing his momentum for a few more meters across the grass and fallen leaves. Hoseok can’t help but grin at his antics. Sometime he wonders what goes on in the head of that kid.

Taehyung doesn’t get up from the floor, but rolls in the reverse direction until he’s at Hoseok’s feet. He looks up and makes a face. “You look like a giant from here hyung.”

“That’s because you’re lying on the ground Taehyung,” Hoseok banters back good naturedly.

“Do you eat beans? Because my mom says they make you grow tall. I hate beans though. Does that mean I’ll stay short forever?”

Hoseok stifles a laugh. “You’re tall enough as it is Taehyung. Please don’t grow anymore.”

“Ah, I see,” Taehyung make a mournful sound. “You’re ganging up with the Gods of Food Preferences to make sure I don’t grow any taller.”

“The Gods of what?”

“Of Food Preferences. They made a deal with the Gods of Heights that if the Gods of Heights gave them a bountiful banquet this year then they would make sure I stay short. And you’ve ganged up with them against me, haven’t you hyung.”

Hoseok’s lips twitch. “No I haven’t Taehyung. I think if you stand up you’ll find that you are nearly the same height as me.”

That gets Taehyung springing up instantly. “Eh? Really? Oh. It’s true. Maybe the God of Height didn’t want to grant the Gods of Food Preferences a wealthy banquet this year.”

Hoseok snorts.

“So who’s that moody guy over there with his own personal black cloud?” Taehyung asks, his attention as erratic as the wind as he catches sight of Jimin kicking up autumn leaves.

“Park Jimin,” Hoseok supplies. “He’s my friend’s, um, boyfriend?”

He guesses that’s still technically the right definition.

“Is that so?” Taehyung blinks. “I’ll go say hi then.”

“Ah, wait Taehyung-“ Hoseok lets his hand drop as Taehyung prances off to jump on Jimin, wrestle him to the floor and then introduce himself. Hoseok sighs and wanders over to yank Taehyung off his position in straddling Jimin to the ground before someone calls the police.

“Taehyung, haven’t I told you a hundred times that this isn’t the way to greet someone?”

“Eh? But that’s boring.” Taehyung hangs limp in Hoseok’s grip, forcing Hoseok to suddenly dig in his heels in order to support his weight.

Jimin watches them from the ground with something akin to muted amusement, the edges of his lips curling up.  

“Jimin,” Hoseok says. “This is Taehyung, one of the younger members in my dance crew. He lives close to you actually, which is why he’s here?” He addresses the latter half of his sentence to Taehyung.

Taehyung nods. “Yup. Jungkook sent me to go do shopping…which…”

“Which you haven’t done,” Hoseok finishes for him.

Taehyung gives him a guilty grin.

Hoseok sighs. “Let’s go shopping then,” he says and Taehyung’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree.

“You’re the best hyung!” he beams and wriggles out of Hoseok’s grip to do a little victory dance. You would’ve thought the kid had planned it all along.

“Coming Jimin?” Hoseok says as he dusts off his knees. He holds out a hand to help Jimin up and Jimin takes it, startled, for he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Coming where?”

“Shopping,” Hoseok repeats, enunciating the word. “I mean you don’t have anything better to do, do you?”

Jimin chews his bottom lip. Oh he has plenty of better things he could be doing, namely Yoongi, though he can’t exactly tell Hoseok that.  

“C’mon, a change of scenery will be good for you,” Hoseok says and Jimin knows he’s made a mistake by looking at Hoseok’s puppy dog eyes because dammit, now he can’t refuse Hoseok.

“Fine,” he says, wrapping his arms around his waist to keep warm and to shield off Hoseok and his damn happy-go-lucky grin. Hoseok ignores the warding and wraps one arm around Jimin’s shoulder, leaning into him. Jimin sighs because Hoseok’s always like this. He shows his emotions through touch and movement and sound. He’s only seen him perform once or twice when Yoongi has asked him to tag along, but it’s enough for Jimin’s novice eyes to tell that Hoseok is brilliant. Honestly, it makes him want to try out dance himself.

But that was way back before Yoongi had passed away and time had dulled it to an unremarkable thought. But now, with Hoseok at his side and sharing his thrumming energy, the idea doesn’t seem too farfetched. Jimin has technically taken a year out of university, but it’s not like he was ever doing something he was passionate about. He’s still free to switch degrees and maybe make a few different choices.

But that’s all in the future and right now he’s living in the present.

Hoseok may just be a passing asteroid, but the gravity he exerts is enough to tempt Jimin to follow. So Jimin lets Hoseok lean into him and link arms and lead him away from his house and his worries and Yoongi.

*

The silence between Namjoon and Yoongi stretches like sticky sugar, long and golden until it reaches its limit and gravity claims it in glutinous strands.

Namjoon breaks it first by moving. He sits down, stretching his long legs, and some invisible props seems to support him up. He wears a heavy jean jacket and tucks his hands deep into its pocket. He looks unearthly, like he has some sort of internal smoldering sun which lightens the blond quality of his hair and brings out the darker tones of his skin. If Yoongi could translate him to music then he would put down a hard heavy beat with a lighter melody transposed atop.

Yoongi shakes his head to rid his ever-present thoughts of music.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice. He is still sunk deep in his thoughts. So Yoongi walks over and cautiously sits down opposite him. Incredibly as he lowers himself down, he feels something solid appear beneath him as if his will has manifested into something real.

“Namjoon,” Yoongi starts, not really knowing where he wants to begin, but knowing that Namjoon is better versed in this world than he is so whatever he asks will be valuable regardless.

Namjoon breaks out of his reverie, eyes refocusing on Yoongi. “Yeah?”

“Why are so adamant in thinking that Jimin and I won’t work. I know you and your…lover didn’t work out, but that doesn’t mean the same will happen to us, no?”

Namjoon purses his lips thoughtfully. “And what makes you so adamant in thinking you two will work?” he shoots back. “You’re dead Yoongi. You need to differentiate the fact that you are a ghost and Jimin is not.”

Yoongi’s eyes flash. “Do we really?”

Namjoon exhales, his patience tried. “Yoongi, we Ghosts are brought back by strong feeling from the living. They chain us to this world and temporarily we can bring them relief. Temporarily we can turn back time and pretend we haven’t died. But it doesn’t last forever. The living will move on. Look to Jimin. Look and see if he really needs you.”

He points into the distance and Yoongi turns to see. The fog dissipates and they are in a tiny café, Namjoon gesturing through the wide glass window and out onto the streets where Jimin has linked arms with some chestnut haired boy and Hoseok.

They stumble, the downside to trying to chain three people, but they’re laughing.

Jimin is laughing.

It’s been so long since Yoongi has seen a smile on Jimin’s face that is wrought not by hugs or kisses or intimate touches, but by laughing so hard that your sides hurt and your cheeks ache.

A very different sort of ache pounds in Yoongi’s chest, vivid and void at the same time.

“You are stuck in the past,” Namjoon says, his words quiet, but they ring clear like a bell. “And Jimin lives in the present.”

In the distance the chestnut haired boy falls flat on his face and Jimin yelps and rushes to help him up. He and Hoseok burst out laughing when they see a perfect red mark on the brown haired boy’s nose, making him look like an early Christmas reindeer.

The boy pouts and Jimin gives him a mock kiss on the nose to make it all better.

Yoongi’s non-existence heart does a little backflip and tumble. It feels ten times too big for his chest.

Namjoon tone is sad as he watches them play, as if he too is remembering the past he no longer belongs to. “Yoongi,” he says softly, the words echoing and reverberating in the tiny white space around them. “How much longer do you two think you can play pretend?”

*

Yoongi is sprawled out on the sofa when Jimin gets home, his socked feet dangling off the ends. He’s not wearing headphones but he doesn’t respond when Jimin shuts close the door.

“Hyung?”

Yoongi shifts his head minutely. Jimin’s gaze goes immediately to Yoongi’s eyes. They’re cold. Flat. Emotionless. Expressionless.

“Hyung?” he rushes to Yoongi’s side, falling to his knees and cupping Yoongi’s face between his two hands. “What’s wrong? What happened? Could Seokjin-hyung really…?”

Yoongi gives a tiny nod.

“You mean…Seokjin-hyung could really see you? And speak to you?”

Yoongi nods again.

Jimin leans back on his heels. “What did he say to you?”

Yoongi’s expression darkens and he turns his head away. Jimin knows this means that Yoongi doesn’t want to speak about. Whilst Yoongi doesn’t usually express his feelings straightforwardly, Jimin knows that an outright refusal to answer means things are bad.

“Hyung,” Jimin says levelly. “Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help.”

Yoongi looks at him, surprising pooling. Since when has Jimin been this mature? Wanting to sit down and talk about feelings. Or maybe he’s always been this way and Yoongi just hasn’t noticed before.

Maybe Namjoon is right. Without him realizing it Jimin has grown up into someone who doesn’t need to lean on Yoongi in order to stand.

“Hyung.” Jimin is begging for him to open up, to tell him what’s wrong. But Yoongi doesn’t want to do that. Yoongi doesn’t really know what he wants anymore.

“Hyu-“

Yoongi rolls over and off the couch, shutting Jimin up as he presses against his lips. Jimin makes a surprised noise as Yoongi kisses him desperately, hands roaming and gripping the hem of his shirt tightly.

There’s something off with Yoongi. Jimin can sense it, but before he can even say any words Yoongi’s hands are tugging off his outer jacket and slipping under his shirt. He licks into Jimin’s mouth and bites down on his lower lip, erasing any coherent thought of Jimin’s. 

“Hyung,” Jimin breathes, breaking away from the intoxicating kiss. “Now?”  

Jimin feels one hand creep up in answer, fingers pushing aside the material of his shirt with it and when Yoongi moves his mouth down to encircle his right nipple he can’t help but let out a breathy moan. It’s been too long and Yoongi has always known which buttons to press with Jimin.

Yoongi pushes Jimin down onto the rug, and Jimin lets him do it.

*

They end up on the couch, Yoongi sliding deep into Jimin and fucking him so hard that Jimin comes with cry and Yoongi draws blood when his teeth breaks skin.

They are both breathing hard but it is only Yoongi who is not covered in perspiration.

He curls himself up between the back of the couch and Jimin’s body afterwards, one arm snaked out to curl around Jimin’s chest.

“Hyung?” Jimin whispers, pushing his nose into the cold touch of Yoongi’s bare back.

Yoongi curls into him more tightly.

“What are you upset about?” Jimin asks and Yoongi stills, an answer unto itself. “Hyung, answer me.”

Yoongi lifts the arm slung over Jimin’s chest and moves it slowly so that his hand pauses right over Jimin’s chest. Jimin waits patiently as Yoongi makes up his mind. He places the finger down and traces one character. And then another. And another.

Do

You

Still

Need

Me

?

Jimin’s eyes flicker towards Yoongi with surprise. “This is what is bothering you hyung?” he says incredulously. “Of course I do. I always will! How could you think I wouldn’t?”

Yoongi turns his head downwards so that Jimin cannot see what sort of face he is making. He himself doesn’t know what sort of expression it is, but Yoongi’s certain it’s ugly. He can’t speak. He can’t cry. What sort of face then would despair come out as?

Yoongi’s body shudders with silent sobs and Jimin immediately wraps his arms and legs around Yoongi, pulling him in close and whispering soft promises into his ear.

“It’s okay hyung. I love you, I’ll always love you. Don’t worry about this. We’ll make this work. We will somehow.”

It’s soothing and Yoongi lets his eyelids droop close and the words wash over him until they turn into nonsensical mumbles and Jimin falls asleep. Dawn will inevitably come, and spring take another step closer, and Yoongi knows he has next to no idea on how they will make things work, but for now he’ll close his eyes and pretend he can sleep by listening to the rhythmic beat of Jimin’s heart. Time is short and he will savor what he can.

Morning will come, and they’ll deal with it then.

*

Jimin sneezes for the fifth time.

It’s snowing hard, forcing Jimin to bundle up with three layers, a ridiculously fluffy beanie and calf high boots. Not for the first time that night does he shoot Yoongi an envious look. Yoongi stands there in a simple hoodie and jeans, not minding the chill one bit.

“Hyung hurry up,” Jimin sniffles as he hops up and down on the spot, trying to warm up the best he can.

Yoongi however is entranced with snow as of late. He holds up one hand and watches as a flake floats down and comes into contact with his hand. It doesn’t melt or go right through as he has first thought it might. Instead it hovers right above his skin, resisting gravity. To any other sharp eyed passerby it would look like the snowflake had paused in midair.

It’s fascinating and Yoongi has been doing this over and over again out of sheer amusement.

“Hyung,” Jimin whines and sneezes again.

Yoongi decides to give Jimin a break and lets the snowflake go. He returns to his side with a small smile at Jimin’s ridiculously red cheeks.

When he points it out and cracks up in soundless laughter, Jimin protests and pouts, which only makes Yoongi laugh even more.

“Jimin?”

Both turn to look at the newcomer.

“Taehyung?” Jimin breaks into a cheerful smile. Taehyung returns it and trapezes over, draping his body over Jimin’s back and weighing him down. He grabs the ends of Jimin’s too-long hair that really needs a trim and tickles his cheek with it.

Yoongi recognizes him as the orange-chestnut haired kid from the café, though he seems to have dyed it a slick sheen of purple.

“Hey Jiminnie,” Taehyung chirps. “What are you doing out all alone?”

Jimin jumps a little. He’s forgotten that Taehyung can’t see Yoongi.

“Or were you with someone? I saw you talking, but to who?”

 “I, uh, was talking to my friend,” Jimin says hesitantly.

Taehyung’s eyes light up. “Ooh! Who? I want to meet your friends.”

“Um,” Jimin backs up and trips. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Taehyung’s whole body droops. “Why not? Do you not want me meeting him?”

Jimin scratches his head. “It’s not that. It’s just…it’s not possible.”

Taehyung spins Jimin round and sticks his face right up close so that his nose is almost touching Jimin’s. Taehyung’s eyes flash defiantly. Yoongi watches with a half amused, half wary expression.

“Why can’t I?”

Dammit. Jimin should’ve just kept his mouth closed from the very beginning.

He sighs. “Because my friend is invisible,” he says, somewhat truthfully.

Taehyung’s eyes grow as round as the moon and Jimin shrinks back away from it. “That’s so cool!” he beams. Yoongi snickers silently. Everything is going in the opposite direction than Jimin is hoping and to Yoongi, this is hilarious.

“Uh, uh, um,” Jimin hedges and Taehyung just keeps coming in closer.

“Where is he? Can I talk to him? I mean if he’s invisible, can he still speak? Or do you two talk on a different wavelength, like aliens or something? Is he an alien? That would be so cool! What planet does he come from? Did his spaceship crash?!”

Jimin does his best to keep up with Taehyung’s relentless wave of questions. “Umm he’s here, but he can’t speak. But I can see him. So um, it’s okay if we can’t talk to one another. And he’s not an alien…not really.”

Yoongi shoots him a meaningful look that has Jimin backing up again. How dare the kid call him a ‘not really alien’.

Jimin feels like he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Taehyung however decides to back off from Jimin. “Hello Mr. Invisible Friend of Jimin’s,” he calls out in all random directions, completely ignoring the weird stares he gets in return from passerbys.

“He’s um, over there.” Jimin points to the opposite direction that Taehyung is yelling in, and Taehyung spins and jumps and holds out a hand to Yoongi. He nearly sticks it right through Yoongi’s chest.

“Hello!” he says brightly. “My name is Kim Taehyung. 18. 176 cm. I weigh 58kg. I’m currently studying for my college entrance exams right now. I haven’t decided on what I want to do though so I’m just entering a general college course.”

Yoongi stares at the outstretched hand. Um… what should he do? He can’t exactly shake it back. Nor can he introduce himself. He turns to Jimin for help.

“His name is Min Yoongi. He’s um, 21 this year I guess. 176 cm thereabouts. Uhh, I forgot what he weighs, and well, he’s invisible so he doesn’t attend college and-“

“We’re the same height!” Taehyung gasps. ”That’s so cool!”

Yoongi stares. That’s what he gathered out of that exchange?

Then, the sensation that surges through him is one akin to an ice bucketing having been chucked on top of him. It cuts through him, cold and brutal. It threatens to shake apart his very structure.

Yoongi clutches his chest and stumbles as someone passes through him.

It’s never happened before, but Yoongi wasn’t paying attention, and it’s clear that this boy’s intention is to talk to Taehyung.

“Hyung,” the raven haired kid says in a feather soft voice. Yoongi reels from the pain. He falls to his knees. Jimin is at his side in an instant.

“Jungkook?” Taehyung sounds surprised to see him. “Ah, Jimin? What are you doing? Is Yoongi-hyung okay?!”

Nausea rips through Yoongi and the ground spins.

“Hyung? Yoongi?” Jimin shakes him roughly by the shoulders and Yoongi wants to tell him not to because he’s doing his best to not throw up. But Jimin’s scared. Yoongi is starting to look incredibly transparent and then Yoongi makes a sharp movement, as if he’s gasping, his shoulders hunching and his chest caving in.

“Hyung!” Jimin panics and grips tighter and-

-and his hands go right through.

It’s broad daylight but the sky is dim with clouds and the afternoon setting sun. And before even though he couldn’t see Yoongi he could still touch him.

Jimin feels like his heart has stopped.

“Jimin?” Taehyung kneels beside him. “What’s wrong? What happened to Yoongi-hyung?”

Jimin’s voice shakes as he tries to explain it. “He-he’s vanishing. I- I can’t touch him.”

“But you usually can?”

Jimin nods, a quick shaky bob.

“Then what happened just now? Right before he started vanishing?”

“Um,” Jimin points to Jungkook. “He walked right through Yoongi-hyung…”

“Jungkook!” Taehyung scolds, turning and berating the younger boy who looks hopelessly confused at the situation.

Then he turns back to Jimin, puzzled. “But I thought he was invisible. That’s all.”

Yoongi’s feels like his blood is freezing, coagulating, stiffening him into a statue. Time seems to slow as he manages to look up and see realization write itself across Jimin’s face.

“It’s not that he’s invisible…” Jimin says slowly. It sounds like each word is being wrenched out from him, a tooth taken out unceremoniously by a dentist. “It’s that…he’s a ghost…so you can’t see him.”  

Taehyung’s mouth falls open into a tiny ‘o’ shape.

Surprisingly it’s Jungkook who says it, in a blunt and no nonsense voice. “So isn’t it normal that he’s disappearing?”

Yoongi feels another wave of ice pass through, a hailstorm that makes him see white spots in his vision.

“Hyung!” Jimin’s heart is beating so fast that he feels like it’s going to explode. “Hyung! No! Don’t disappear. You said you wouldn’t!”

It’s getting hard to hear Jimin now. All he can feel is this soft chill spreading out, fingers of ice crawling along skin. He shivers and the white slowly creeps in closer.

“Hyung, please don’t go.” Jimin is begging now, on his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Don’t leave me alone…”

Yoongi is drawn to that droplet, the silver glint of it under the faint sunlight, and the way it shimmers as it rolls down, catches on the end of his chin and falls. It takes a very long time to fall, almost as if it is suspended and Yoongi holds onto that image as the white encroaches in and swallows him whole.

*

Words echo in the white space of his mind. There’s no Namjoon here this time. Just Yoongi and Yoongi alone. His body feels suspended, floating, hanging by some invisible string.

It’s peaceful. Is this heaven? Or the world beyond the living?

_“Just do us all a favor Yoongi and move on.”_

Yoongi experimentally moves one hand a fraction. It feels heavy, waterlogged. It would be so easy to just close his eyes and let it all go. 

_“You are stuck in the past. And Jimin lives in the present.”_

A teardrop.

But there is Jimin and Yoongi cannot leave Jimin behind. Especially not when he cries.

_“Look to Jimin. Look and see if he really needs you.”_

Maybe Jimin doesn’t need him. But then again, maybe he does. He told Yoongi not to leave, and now he’s begging for the very same thing. To give up now is to give up on Jimin.  Yoongi opens his eyes and fights the water, pushes back the resistance and reaches out with one clawed hand.

 “ _Do you still need me?_ “

With tooth and claw, Yoongi fights. His body bobs with the flow of the water but he pushes and rights himself and kicks out with his legs. He can reach it. He can escape this world of whiteness. He needs to. He has to.

_“I love you. I’ll always love you. We can make this work. We’ll make it work somehow.”_

Jimin’s is waiting.

The whiteness invades, pushing him back, an unsurpassable barrier. Yoongi gasps for breath but the sheer pressure is overwhelming. He falters.

_“How much longer do you two think you can play pretend?”_

He falls.  

*

The world is no longer white when Yoongi regains a semblance of consciousness. There’s a gentle rhythmic pressure to his left and he turns his head a fraction to see Jimin curled up next to him, a soft snore emitting from his body.

His hand curled around Yoongi’s wrist suggests that they can touch again.

Yoongi closes his eyes and savors the peace and quiet of the moment. When he opens it, Namjoon sits on the tiny swivel chair, watching him.

“You nearly vanished all by yourself,” he says quietly.

Yoongi sits up and discovers that he is in a stranger’s bed, in a stranger’s room. The chaotic array of items and clashing colors hurt his eyes. The bedsheets are stripes of blue and magenta, the walls are a bright orange. Yoongi makes a face at them, then at Namjoon.  

“How?” he asks.

“You’re existence as a ghost was shaken,” Namjoon says.

When Yoongi’s brow furrows with confusion, Namjoon explains. “I said it before didn’t I? Common perception is that us ghosts hang around because we want to fulfil a goal or something. The truth is that there is someone out there with feelings strong enough to sustain our existence and bring us back.”

“Then what about you?” Yoongi says. “You left behind the person whose feelings sustain your existence right? How are you still here?”

 “I-“ Namjoon pauses. “We came to the mutual conclusion that our relationship wasn’t working and so we parted. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have strong feelings for me, or vice versa.”

Yoongi’s eyes sharpen. “Are you saying you’re still in love with this guy and you left him?”

Namjoon frowns. “I never said we fell out of love. If that was the case then I doubt I’d still be here. What we decided was that both of us would move on. He would learn to live with the living and I would find a way to pass on.”

“How?”

Namjoon draws a deep breath. “We are borne from strong feelings and chained here by strong feelings. And those feelings are sourced from memories, from good times and happiness and so-“

 “Are you saying if we get rid of those memories then we can move on?” Yoongi frowns deeply. “Seriously? In the first place how would we even remove memories?”

“It doesn’t have to be that drastic,” Namjoon says, lips downturned. “The living just needs to be willing to let us go.”

“So why hasn’t this love of your life let you go if you two are in agreement of parting?” Yoongi says sharply.

“Because,” Namjoon grinds harshly. “Because he’s worried about me.”

Yoongi blinks. “Worried about you?”

“He’s worried about what will happen to me if he lets go. Who knows what will happen to us. Maybe we’ll just vanish into some white void and that’s it. Maybe heaven or hell exists and we’ll ascend or fall. Who knows. We haven’t a clue and that’s what scares him. He tries not to show it but subconsciously he’s scared of letting me go and that’s why I came to you.”

“To me?” Yoongi stares.

Namjoon nods. “I thought if I could find someone to move on with me, then… then Seokjin would be at peace with it.”

Yoongi’s eyes fly wide open. “Seok-“

“But for you I don’t think you could ever convince Jimin.”

“What?!”

“Jimin may not need you anymore but he doesn’t realize it himself,” Namjoon says softly. “And he himself is unwilling to give you up then I don’t know how else you can move on.”

“Basically me not being able to move on is a barrier in your plan to assuage Seokjin’s worries and for you yourself to move on,” Yoongi summarizes in a flat tone.

“Basically,” Namjoon says, mouth quirking at Yoongi’s irritation.

“And so when were you going to tell me that you dated Seokjin-“

“And so we may have to go with the drastic plan and erase Jimin’s memories,” Namjoon says before Yoongi can finish his sentence.

“Wait. What?!” Yoongi chokes. “Is that even possible.”

“I have a theory,” Namjoon says gravely.

“Actually wait stop right there,” Yoongi holds up a hand. “Why would I even want to erase Jimin’s memories? I want to stay here. Jimin wants me to stay here too. Go find your own way to move on yourself.”

“Ouch,” Namjoon mock-winces. “That’s cold of you.”

“Not my problem,” Yoongi growls. “You and loverboy need to stop butting into my relationship with Jimin. We’re perfectly happy together and he doesn’t want me to disappear.”

“But you nearly did,” Namjoon points out.

Yoongi flinches. “B-but…Jimin didn’t forget about me so…”

“He didn’t forget about you. He made a realization.” Namjoon says. “Jimin’s been subconsciously suppressing the fact that you are dead. He’s trying to fool himself into thinking elsewise. But when that black haired kid walked through you, even he couldn’t deny the truth. And that realization is what is shaking your existence.”

Yoongi looks down at Jimin.

“Strong feelings from memories are one thing,” Namjoon says. “If Jimin understands that you are a ghost then he might be able to let you go of his own volition.”

Yoongi’s fingers go to Jimin’s hair, combing through them gently. “So in the end,” he says softly. “Jimin doesn’t need me.”

Namjoon’s eyes soften. “Think about it. If everyone could not get over someone’s death then this world would be filled with ghosts. But it’s not. It’s human nature to surpass grief. And Jimin will, with time.”

Yoongi can read the undercurrent words there. _Just like Seokjin will._

“So will you take up my offer?” Namjoon says, bringing him back to reality. “Leave Jimin and vanish with me?”

He holds out of hand. A tangible offer.

Yoongi shakes his head. “Not yet. I can’t leave Jimin just yet.”

Namjoon drops his hand. “Still huh? Fine, I won’t force you to choose.” He stands and angles his body away, looking out at the living room. Yoongi has a feeling he can see right through it and to the people beyond. He wonders just how bad things had to get with Seokjin for them to make this choice.

“I’ll be waiting for you when you make up your mind,” Namjoon says, tucking his hands back into pockets and leaning back on his heels. “Just remember that to love doesn’t mean you have to be by their side. Sometimes to love is to leave.”

He inclines his head slightly and vanishes as the wind blows cruelly outside.

*

Jimin awakens with a start. He sits up abruptly to an empty bed and his hands instinctively search for Yoongi’s warmth. Not that Yoongi radiates any body heat, but he’s always given off this sort of _presence_ that Jimin translates into radiance.

Instead there’s a note, typed an unsent message box on his phone.  

 _I’ve gone out for a bit to think on things. I’ll be back at our apartment by midnight._ _미안_ _._

Jimin turns off the phone and shoves it into his pocket angrily. How could Yoongi just leave like that? He should have at least waited until Jimin woke up and- and well he’d stop him but…

Jimin lets out a tiny sigh and makes for the door. He flings it open and stops still as he takes in the sight of Taehyung standing there, topless but for a flowery pink apron, and with a spatula in his mouth.

“Hway Himin,” he says and adjusts the oven’s temperature.

Jungkook walks by and whacks him on the head with a rolled up newspaper. “That’s disgusting Tae,” he says, readjusts the temperature, and then walks back to his bedroom.

Taehyung and Jungkook are roommates, both attending the same high school and intending on getting into the same university and course. Their motivations are slightly different: Taehyung because he’s not sure what he wants to do but is equally good at everything, and Jungkook who is doing it because he knows what he wants to do but his parents disagree and this is the compromise. What they have in common is that they both disagree with their parents and both forge well on their own. The result: shared dorms attending a high school which will hopefully gain them easier access to the university of their choice.

Taehyung pulls the spatula out of his mouth and points it at the oven like a magic wand. “Hurry up!” he declares and waves it.

“Um,” Jimin doesn’t want to interrupt him but the clock says nine and he really should be leaving.

“Stay for dinner,” Taehyung says. “Jungkook cooks well.”

“Jungkook cooked?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung nods. “I didn’t actually cook anything. Kookie just told me to keep an eye on the over until it’s done and call him if I smell anything burning.”

“Then the apron?”

“Because it looks good on me,” Taehyung replies without an ounce of shame.

“Um…”

“Don’t bother with giving him a reply,” Jungkook calls from his bedroom, the door open wide. “You’ll just encourage him.”

“Uh…”

“But anyway, you should stay for food,” Taehyung continues, as if he is not the current subject being dissed.

Jungkook emerges from his bedroom, a pencil behind one ear, sheets in his hand. “Yeah, go ahead. I cooked intending for three anyway.”

“Yeah!” Taehyung takes Jimin by the shoulders and steers him so that he’s sitting at the dining table. “Go ahead and get comfortable.”

Apparently Jimin doesn’t have much say in the matter so he just parks his ass and watches Taehyung prance about the kitchen, tapping a lot of button and making sounds of ‘hmm’ and ‘ooh’ and ‘yes!’ but not actually contributing anything to the cooking at all. And then 20 minutes later Jungkook walks in, yawning, turns off the oven and puts on mitts to take out the roast.

“Done,” he declares and orders Taehyung to lay the table.

Jimin starts at the presence of actual words and gets up and out of the chair. “I should help-“ he begins, but then Taehyung is there, one hand on his shoulder and pushing him down.

“You’re the guest,” he says shaking his head. “Savor it while you can,” he crooks a grin. “Next time you come you’ll be doing the cooking and the washing up.”

Jimin’s lips twitch and he decides that sounds fair.

Dinner is a surprisingly fun affair. Jungkook has a sharp tongue, but a great propensity for making witty jokes. Taehyung is the opposite, all loud and loose mouthed but somehow making Jimin burst into laughter more than once. Hoseok drops by sometime after eleven with drinks and before Jimin realizes it, it is way past midnight and he hasn’t even realized the time fly.  

“I should get going,” Jimin says hurriedly. Yoongi is waiting and he is late.

“Aww,” Taehyung pouts, cheeks flushed a pretty pink. Jimin’s certain that the drinks Hoseokn bought were non-alcoholic but he’s not quite sure anymore.

“Come back and visit again okay?” Jungkook says quietly. His eyes are earnest, conveying what his tone doesn’t: that he’s becoming surprisingly attached to Jimin in this short period of time. He really wants him to come back. So does Taehyung. Hoseok nods encouragingly in the corner.

 “Sure thing,” Jimin says without hesitation and Jungkook beams. 

Jimin lets himself out and immediately he shivers. The air is freezing and his breath billows. He doesn’t even need to squint to see the snowflakes falling over the muted city lights.

Winter has come and the year is nearly over.

*

Yoongi comes home to an empty house.

He had been half expecting it, but it hurts more than he thought it would.

 _Jimin could still be sleeping_ , he reasons with himself. _Or maybe he got caught up with something_. _Or maybe he’s being courteous to those kids._

It doesn’t change the lonesome draw of the room.

Yoongi stares out the glass pane at the dark city. Snow is falling, tiny pinpricks in the far distance. Winter has settled in fully and if their theory is right then in just a little over a month Yoongi will have to make a decision.

To stay. Or to go.

Every fiber of Yoongi’s body is yelling to stay. But apparently everyone else is telling him to go.

*

It’s December when Yoongi decides to make contact with Hoseok.

Hoseok is his long time best friend, something that Yoongi doesn’t think has changed despite their divulged career paths.

Jimin of late has been over at Taehyung and Jungkook’s a lot. They’re around the same age and it’s quite possible they could all end up attending the same University if things keep going this well. Jungkook is two years younger than both of them, but he’s skipped a grade due to his book smarts. Taehyung on the other hand has taken a gap year to ‘think’ things over. And Jimin? Jimin was meant to be in University but ever since Yoongi died his attendance flopped to the point where he simply dropped out and took a year off due to ‘personal reasons’. What he does in the upcoming year is very much up to his whims, though if he wants to get into the spring semester then he’ll have to do some quick networking.

End result is that Yoongi has been left to his own devices for much of the time.

He tries to not be spiteful. This is Jimin’s future they’re thinking about.

“He’s moving on Yoongi,” Namjoon says, appearing as usual out of nowhere but for when the wind blows harshly. He follows Yoongi’s gaze as he watches Jimin wave energetically goodbye, off to go discuss entry requirements with Hoseok who is a senior at the University the three kids are thinking of applying to.  

“So what?” Yoongi says, a little viciously.

Namjoon blinks, but doesn’t let it bother him. “So you should as well.”

“Go away Namjoon,” Yoongi says tiredly. “I don’t want to talk to you today.”

Namjoon bows his head easily. “If you don’t want to talk to me then why you talk to someone you actually like then?”

Yoongi spins, but Namjoon is already gone, nothing but leaves in his wake.

_Someone he actually likes?_

Yoongi racks his head. He can’t think of anyone else he is particularly close to. Ever since he met Jimin he hasn’t really bothered with making ‘friends’ or ‘ dealing in niceties’ as he puts it. He’s got acquaintances in the music business, people with the same interests in the course he was doing, links in the underground scene. They’re the people who had visited his wake out of respectfulness, but people who wouldn’t cry over his too soon death.

And before Jimin?

Yoongi can’t really think of anyone else but Hoseok. Sure he knows Seokjin, but he’s only met him through Hoseok and later Jimin and apparently, now through Namjoon. But just the thought of talking to Seokjin brings back the memories of his cold words telling him to _just leave_.

So there’s really only Hoseok. But how can he talk to Hoseok?

Seokjin was somehow able to see Yoongi, but Yoongi’s starting to think that’s because of his relations to Namjoon. Hoseok doesn’t have anything of the sort and honestly Yoongi’s at loss at how he’s going to make this work, but before he even realizes it his feet have led him to the doorstep of Seokjin and Hoseok’s shared house. The sky is black and apparently he's whittled away the entire afternoon just thinking about if he should ask Hoseok or not. 

He presses the doorbell, thinking _what the hell_ , and it is Seokjin who answers. Of course it’s Seokjin who answers.

“What do you want?” Seokjin says, not unfriendly, but neither friendly.

Yoongi flounders for a second, mouth falling open and then close. _Is um…Hoseok in?_ He wonders a second too late if Seokjin can read his lips as well as Jimin has learnt how to.

“He won’t be able to see you,” Seokjin says flatly, apparently adept at lip reading and art of being blunt. Maybe he’s gotten that from Namjoon as well.

Yoongi’s shoulders drop. _Oh._

Something flickers in Seokjin’s eyes which Yoongi can’t read. “Come in,” he finally says and Yoongi hesitates. Because, just what?

Seokjin throws the door open wider. “He may not be able to see you, but I think I can arrange something else.”

He turns, calling for Hoseok and Yoongi slowly comes in, closing the door behind him.

It’s been a long time since he’s last visited Hoseok’s home. It looks exactly as it did just a few months ago, a stormy clash of neatness and hurricane mess. Hoseok and Seokjin are polar opposites in terms of housekeeping. Hoseok throws things everywhere and will use three day old underwear if need be. All that runs in his mind are dancing and rapping and eating. Occasionally sleeping as well.

Seokjin of course despairs and cleans up after him as best as possible. He’s trained Hoseok somewhat so that he puts his clothes in the various laundry bins around the house and makes sure he has a fresh pair of underwear and socks every day. Seokjin ensures that Hoseok isn’t living off instant noodles and take away chicken twenty four seven and that he isn’t arrested for looking like a walking, talking garbage dump.

Basically Seokjin makes sure Hoseok doesn’t die from his failed domestic abilities.

Yoongi is somewhat grateful to him for that.

Seokjin enters Hoseok’s room and taps him on the shoulder. Hoseok shrugs off his headphones and presses pause to the dance video he was watching.

“What’s up Jin-ah?” he says, all friendly and bubbly like and Yoongi’s heart aches. He’s missed Hoseok. He hasn’t realized it before – too preoccupied with Jimin’s imminent depression and his even more imminent erasure of life – but with the loss of communication he now realizes just how much he misses their friendship.

“Yoongi needs to talk to you,” Seokjin says bluntly.

“Uh, what?” Hoseok stares at him nervously, unsure if he should treat this like a joke or not. “I hate to break it to you, but Yoongi-hyung is dead…”

Seokjin gives a small sigh. “Yoongi’s here,” he says, trying to explain. “He’s a ghost and you can’t see him, but he’s here and he wants to talk to you.”

“Um,” Hoseok blinks furiously, a habit of his when his brain fails to catch up with the situation around him. “If I can’t see him, then you, uh, can?”

Seokjin nods.

Hoseok gapes. “How-“

Seokjin puts up a hand. “That’s not the issue right now. What is, is that Yoongi needs to speak with you.” He looks to Yoongi. “I could stay here and translate for you, but…” he takes in Yoongi’s look of distress, “but I think this is something private that he wants to tell you alone.”

“Um, how then?” Hoseok asks, still a little stunned.

Seokjin leans forwards and clicks open a blank document on Hoseok’s laptop. “The old fashioned way,” he says.

Seokjin jerks his head to the laptop, looking to Yoongi. “You can type right?”

Yoongi pads forwards in answer, pressing one finger to the worn out keyboard. 예.

Hoseok’s eyes turn to the size of saucers. “Y-Y-Yoongi!” he stutters and spins around wildly, as if he can suddenly gain the ability to see him.

“Hoseok,” Seokjin chides. “Pay attention to the screen. That’s the only way you can talk to him. He can hear you so you don’t need to type, but Yoongi will then be able to reply to you via the keyboard. Okay?”

Hoseok closes his mouth and gives a silent nod.

“Good,” Seokjin says. “I’ll leave you two to it then. Will 10 minutes be enough?”

 _Yeah,_ Yoongi says and Seokjin gives an affirmative nod and leaves.

Now it’s just the two of them awkwardly in the room. Hoseok licks his lips nervously, another little habit of his, and swallows audibly.

Hoseok opens his mouth to speak just as Yoongi types in the first character onto the screen.

 _I need your advice Hoseok,_ Yoongi types, just as Hoseok says, “What can I do for you hyung?”

They both stare at the computer screen for a moment before simultaneously bursting out into laughter. It’s almost ridiculous how in sync they still are.

“So what help do you need?” Hoseok asks, still chortling and wiping away a tear of laughter.

Yoongi bites back his laughter as he leans forwards to type again. _Tell me Hoseok, do you think it would be okay if I stayed?_

Laughter dies almost immediately, a shriveled black shell. “What are you talking about Yoongi?” Hoseok says in a tiny whisper.

Yoongi taps away at the keyboard. _I’m dead Hoseok. I’m only still here because Jimin harbored a strong desire for me to return. But that’s all changing now. He doesn’t need me anymore and there’s another ghost telling me I should just go. I don’t know what to do anymore._

Hoseok’s eyes scan the words, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he slowly grasps the situation. “What makes you think Jimin doesn’t need you? Of course he needs you hyung!”

Hoseok’s seen the way Jimin always scurries to Yoongi first. It’s Yoongi first to show him his latest project or his latest idea or his latest dream last night. Yoongi has always been at the front of Jimin’s mind and Hoseok can’t imagine it any other way.

_If that’s the case then why is he at Taehyung and Jungkook’s house and not with me?_

Yoongi hates how petulant he sounds.

Hoseok’s shoulders drops. “Are you lonely hyung?”

Yoongi’s nonexistent heart beats like a drum. He’s not lonely. He’ll never admit to being lonely.

“Jimin will always care for you, you know that hyung,” Hoseok says argumentatively. “He’s just thinking of his future as well.”

 _I’m not supposed to exist in his future Hoseok,_ Yoongi types, his heart splintering with each tap of the keyboard. 

“Don’t say that!” Hoseok exclaims, hands gripping his seat tightly.

_I’m a ghost Hoseok. I’m the stuff of fairy tales. You don’t see me, you can’t hear me. I’m not meant to be here and yet I am. I exist purely off Jimin’s desire for me to stay and I don’t know how much longer I can stay._

“Oh Yoongi,” Hoseok gives a little sigh and his heart goes out to him. “You can’t decide if you should leave before Jimin moves on or if you should brave it out to the end and then go when Jimin lets you.”

Yoongi’s fingers fall short of the keyboard, frozen, and he cannot type anymore.

Oh. So that was it.

It was never about staying or going; it was about leaving by his own volition or by Jimin’s. Apparently Yoongi has never had a say in whether he wants to stay or not.

He feels it build up in his chest again – the urge to cry. He’s so glad Hoseok can’t see him right now, his chest convulsing, lips pulling backwards in the mockery of sadness.

There is a hand on his shoulder, warm beyond belief. Yoongi turns to see Seokjin looks sympathetically back at him.

“Do you understand now Yoongi?” Seokjin says softly, and Yoongi shakes his head hard, still wanting denial. But it’s too late. Ignorance is bliss and reality bites.

Seokjin lets go. “You’re a wonderful person Yoongi, and I admire you for what you’ve done for Jimin. But it’s time to realize that you cannot draw this out any longer. It’d be better for both of you is you just cut it short right here and now and stop prolonging the pain.”

“What are you saying hyung!” Hoseok interjects sharply. “That because it’s in the best interests of everyone Yoongi should just go? Best interests are the same thing as best feelings.”

Seokjin’s expression becomes guarded. “I’m not saying that they are. Doing the right thing hurts and Yoongi is only putting off the inevitable. He should just get it over and done with before it all starts hurting.”

Hoseok stands up roughly, shoving the chair away so that it screeches and hits the table. “And what makes you the expert?”

Seokjin meets his look this time. “Experience,” he says shortly and both Hoseok and Yoongi freeze.

Yoongi lunges for the computer. _Namjoon?_ he can’t help but ask. 

Seokjin exhales harshly. “Yes,” he says with gritted teeth.

Hoseok stills as he recalls the name on the gravestone: Kim Namjoon. Which means…? If Yoongi knows Namjoon and Namjoon is dead… Is this the ghost telling Yoongi to move on?

 _Just because it didn’t work out for you and Namjoon doesn’t mean the same will happen to Jimin and I,_ Yoongi types boldly.

Seokjin shakes his head harshly in response. His voice is snappish and pitched. “That’s what you think. But it’s turning out exactly the same way it did for Namjoon and I. First you despair, then you cry tears of happiness when he returns and you think hey, we can make this work. We’ll make it work. Love will prevail. But it doesn’t. It just doesn’t.”

Hoseok’s mouth falls into a tiny ‘o’ shape. This is another side of Seokjin that he has never seen before. Maybe it’s the side he would have seen if he had told Seokjin he was willing to believe in ghosts.

Yoongi’s expression however is still defiant.

Seokjin despairs. “Why can’t you understand Yoongi, I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to make sure Jimin and you don’t get hurt the same way Namjoon and I did.”

“What happened to Namjoon and you?” Hoseok asks tentatively, taking a step forwards so that he is in Seokjin’s direct line of sight.

Seokjin’s fierce bravado falters. Just saying his name brings back the memories Seokjin has so hard tried to bury. It’s one thing for Namjoon’s name to roll off his lips; it’s another to hear it from Hoseok’s mouth.

Thinking about Namjoon makes him remember losing him, regaining him, and then giving him up, all over again.

There had been a phone call with the cruel and callous news. Seokjin had dropped to his knees and a numbing sensation had clutched his heart.

The next time Seokjin had seen Namjoon had been at his funeral. He had been dressed in a suit far too formal for his tastes and his hair had been carefully combed back. If he was alive Namjoon would have laughed at himself. But instead he was in a casket and Seokjin was the one left behind, unable to laugh even if he wanted to.

He sees himself in Jimin; Namjoon in Yoongi.

So much love to pull them back; so much dedication to not want to leave.

Right now Yoongi’s eyes match those of Namjoon’s when he had first returned as a ghost. Lost. Scared. Fearful.

Seokjin gives a sad little smile. “It’s not a dramatic story or anything Hoseok,” he says. “Namjoon came back to me a month or two before you and I first met. Ghosts are best seen in winter, when reality is fragile and the cold pervades. He came back and we were happy. We thought we could make it work. We were wrong.”

Seokjin takes a little step backwards and sits down on Hoseok’s messy bed. It smells like him and it’s comforting.

“What changed?” Hoseok whispers, feeling like a tone any louder would break the pregnant moment.

Seokjin looks skyward, to the boxed in ceiling. “We broke down. We started fighting all the time. Namjoon was lonely; I felt caged. We came to the realization surreal and out of joint our situation was. We were just fooling ourselves into believe it could work. And it wasn’t. So we decided to part ways.”

“Just like that?” Hoseok stares.

Seokjin nods. “Just like that.”

 _But Namjoon is still here. You still love him. You can make this work_. Yoongi’s typing grows frantic. _Jimin and I can make this work-_

“Yoongi!” Seokjin cuts him off. “Jimin is already moving on. He’s making friends with people his age, he’s thinking about his future. What can you who is stuck in the past do for him who lives in the present?”

Yoongi’s hands pause over the keyboard.

“Hoseok said it himself. It’s not a matter of staying or going, it’s a matter of when and by whose hand.”

Yoongi lifts his head, a fearful expression plastered there.

He backs away, shaking his head.

“Don’t run from reality Yoongi,” Seokjin says. “You know it in your heart. So stop playing pretend.”

Yoongi vanishes.

Hoseok affixes a firm gaze on Seokjin. “That was harsh of you,” he says.

Seokjin looks weary. “It’s the truth. Truth is harsh.”

“You don’t know Yoongi-hyung. He doesn’t just fall in love with anyone. Jimin was special to him and if anyone can make it work it’s the two of them.”

Seokjin shakes his head, a bemused smile on his face. “Are you saying my love for Namjoon wasn’t strong enough?”

Hoseok’s eyes widen. “That-“

“It’s okay.” Seokjin holds up one hand. “I know you didn’t mean it, and _that_ was mean of me. But I’m just so tired of it all.” He rests his head in his hands, cradling what is left of his fragile body. “I’m tired of being hurt and watching others get hurt as well. I’m tired of mourning for so long. I just…Hoseok…” He lifts his head up and looks at Hoseok, begging almost. “I just want to live.”

Hoseok drops to his knees, one hand coming up to rest on Seokjin’s thigh. “I’m sorry hyung,” he whispers. “You’ve suffered as well, haven’t you?”

Seokjin leans forwards, his forehead on Hoseok’s shoulder. “But Yoongi and Jimin are the one suffering’s right now.”

“They’ll figure it out,” Hoseok says. “You don’t need to be selfless all the time hyung. Worry about yourself as well.”

Seokjin exhales. “Then let me stay like this for a while Hoseok,” he whispers.

Hoseok closes his eyes and rests his other hand on the back of Seokjin’s head. He’s so cold. Why hasn’t Hoseok noticed this before?

“Go ahead hyung,” he says softly. “Rest for a while.”

*

Jimin greets Yoongi’s entry with the brightest of smiles.

“Welcome home hyung!” he says cheerfully, rushing forwards to wrap his long limbs around Yoongi. “I missed you!”

Yoongi’s expression softens. _Is that so brat,_ he says.

Jimin wrinkles his nose at Yoongi’s difficult affection. “Dinner?”

Yoongi nods and Jimin lets go in favor of heading towards the kitchen. It’s so bright here with Jimin. The sky is dark and the weather cold, but somehow just seeing Jimin’s face makes him feel warm on the inside.

Is it really possible that none of this will last?  

*

Jimin takes Yoongi with him the next time he goes over to Taehyung and Jungkook’s house. They communicate through computer and keyboard and Yoongi has to put up with Jungkook’s overly sharp questions and the endless barrage of Taehyung’s nonsensical ones.

Yoongi watches the three of them dance around the kitchen, attempting to cook and failing a lot of the time. They interact like childhood friends who knows each other’s endless intricacies and somehow that just means they end up pranking one another and dissolving into puddles of laughter.

Yoongi watches them and Seokjin and Namjoon’s words ring in his ears: _How much longer can you two play pretend?_

Not much longer apparently.

Jimin is there within reach, but at the same time he is a thousand miles away.

Yoongi opens his hand, closes it. Imagines Jimin’s future sitting in the palm of it. He could open it and set him free. Or he could close it and tie Jimin to him forever.

The choice is so tantalizingly easy.

*

Yoongi has been vanishing frequently of late.

Jimin knows he’s spending a lot of time over at Taehyung and Jungkook’s, and with Hoseok and Seokjin whenever they decide to drop by, but his nights are dedicated to Yoongi.

Some nights it is just lying in bed together, feeling his heartbeat beat alone. Other nights Yoongi presses kisses down his throat and slips into him and fucks him so hard that Jimin thinks he’ll never be able to forget the sensation of Yoongi’s skin against his no matter how fleeting his presence may be.

Some nights though Jimin awakens to find Yoongi staring out of the window, one hand pressed to the pane just like that night when he first returned. Yoongi feels intermittently close and then far. He’s like a fever, hot and cold, and Jimin can never tell when he is what.

 _Hey,_ Yoongi mouths softly one evening as he slips through the wall.

That’s another thing Yoongi has learnt how to do. To move through solid objects as he likes. He doesn’t bother with the door anymore, or with lifts or stairs. Sometimes Jimin wonders if Yoongi just _imagines_ where he wants to be and then simply appears there.

Not for the first time Jimin finds himself reevaluating their situation. Yoongi is a ghost and Jimin is not. That shouldn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t.

Yoongi heads for his laptop, opening it up and resting it in his lap as he sits down on the sofa. _I was out today and I thought up this new song. Just wait till I finish it. It’s going to be amazing,_ he types onto a blank document.

Jimin matches his smile with his own. It feels forced, the edges not quite reaching his eyes the way they used to.

Yoongi is dead. Jimin is alive.

It shouldn’t mean anything because love with make it all work and they can survive it together. Right? Death means nothing. It shouldn’t mean anything.

Only…only Jimin is discovering that it’s starting to.

*

It’s clear from Namjoon’s eyes that he’s been expecting Yoongi.

“You’re not ready to leave,” he says, eyes seeing straight to the truth. “So what is it that you want Yoongi?”

He doesn’t turn to look at Yoongi who appears out of thin air. He stares instead at the rapidly darkening skyline. Winter has set in deep, snow in a flurry, and sky that fades by mid-afternoon. It plunges the world from white skies to inky smears in a matter of minutes and it is like a leviathan swallowing the world.

Yoongi waits until the final dregs of daylight has been completely consumed before speaking.

“Tell me how to wipe Jimin’s memories.”

Namjoon turns and there is pride in his eyes.

*

Christmas day is a whole group event. They gather at Seokjin and Hoseok’s house, Taehyung running about and tripping over just about anything, Jungkook in the kitchen with Seokjin helping him cook, Hoseok and Jimin in the living room trying out new dance moves and miraculously not breaking a leg with their antics.

Yoongi watches them all with gentle amusement.

“Winter is nearly over,” Seokjin says quietly, stopping by the chair where Yoongi is curled up, eyes never once leaving Jimin. Jimin made sure to tell Hoseok and the others exactly where Yoongi is so that another going-through-the-Yoongi incident doesn’t occur again.   “Have you made up your mind?”

Yoongi gives one small nod. He’s surprisingly at peace with his decision.

Seokjin’s eyes widen. “And that is?”

Yoongi turns to look at Seokjin. _Promise me something Seokjin_ , he says.

“Anything,” Seokjin responds without hesitation.

Yoongi’s lips twitch with amusement. _Take care of Jimin for me will you.”_

Seokjin returns the smile. “Always.”

Yoongi turns back to the fresh sound of laughter – of Jimin being happy. _I’ll take care of Namjoon okay?_

Seokjin laughs. “Really? I’d think both of you would hopeless at taking care of each other. Say what you will I know Jimin always did your laundry.”

Yoongi wrinkles his nose. _Yeah well, hopefully there won’t be any detergent issues where we go._

Seokjin places a hand to Yoongi’s shoulder, warm and comforting. He sits on the edge of the chair so that Yoongi can see his genuine gratitude. “Thank you Yoongi.”

 _For what?_ Yoongi asks, perplexed.

His expression must be gold because Seokjin lets out a little laugh, all smooth and gentle. It’s a nice laugh. Erase the anger and the sorrow out of Seokjin and you are left with possibly the nicest person on the planet. Yoongi partially regrets not getting to know Seokjin better before.

“Thank you for helping Namjoon move on as well. Letting Namjoon go was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Discovering that even then he wasn’t able to move on was even harder. I thought it was my fault. In a way I guess I was really harsh on you because I didn’t want you to go through the same thing I did.”

Yoongi feels a pang of guilt that he hasn’t told Seokjin exactly how he plans to convince Jimin to let him go. But then again, if he did tell Seokjin he knows it would only make Seokjin stricken. So he keeps it quiet and asks him something else.

_Was there nothing you could do to stay together with him?_

Seokjin shakes his head. “We tried. We tried for nearly four months. The movies make it sound so easy. But it’s not.”

 _What happened?_ Yoongi asks, unable to draw his eyes away from the shake of Seokjin’s chin.

Seokjin looks at him, eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Spring came,” he says and closes his eyes.

*

Spring.

By right there should be another month or so before spring properly settles in and sunlight returns with vigor, but Yoongi knows now that things are best done when the year changes in. A fresh start. A new beginning.

Christmas may have been a six peopled event, but New Year’s Eve is just the two of them.

Jimin has it all planned out. Dinner, fireworks, and the romantic kiss under the moonlight at the end of it all. He’s gone over the plan with Taehyung and Jungkook so many times that Taehyung has started repeating it in his sleep.

Yoongi hates formalities, so Jimin just wears a thick jacket and jeans. Yoongi puts on his favorite leather jacket and some thick boots.

“Ready?” Jimin is hopping from one foot to the other at the door, unable to hold in his excitement.

Yoongi suppresses a smile and nods, meeting him at the door.

The night is cold, billows of frost hanging low at Jimin’s mouth. The moon however is full, large and round and it entrances Yoongi.

“Hyung, pay attention,” Jimin complains as Yoongi has just ignored his entire conversation since leaving the house.

Yoongi offers him an apologetic smile and holds out a hand. Jimin is a little surprised because his hyung is not usually one for skinship, but it’s new year’s eve and he’ll take what he can.

His hands are cold and Yoongi tucks their entwined hands into his pockets. He has no human warmth so to speak, but he still manages to warm Jimin’s heart.

Fireworks are over Han River. Jimin knows the other will be there and that they know not to disturb them until after midnight. Jimin puts his free hand into his left hand pocket to finger and check for the box. It’s there. It’s all okay.

He calms his racing heart.

The crowd is thickening along the bank so Yoongi and Jimin stroll by at the top of the hill, keeping well away from anyone who might accidentally walk through Yoongi. Normally Jimin loves plunging straight first into the thick of the crowd, just to feel the beat and the bump of other human bodies. Yoongi however hates the shuffle of feet and the push of bodies. Ghosthood appears to have given him a legit reason not to immerse himself into those hateful crowds.

 _Jimin,_ Yoongi scrawls with one finger into the palm of Jimin’s hand.

“Yeah hyung?” Jimin hums, eyes fixed onto the stall selling chicken.

_Are you happy?_

Jimin halts, drops his gaze away from the chicken stall and its grilled allure.

“I am hyung. I really am.”

_Excited for university?_

“Hyung!” Jimin complains, and the moment passes. “You know I’m nervous about that!” Jimin’s put forwards an application to switch Universities. He’ll have to restart from year 1 but it means he can start anew with Jungkook and Taehyung. All three of them have applied for a general course but Yoongi has seen the shine in Jimin’s eyes whenever Hoseok has invited him to come to the dance studio.

Jimin continues his inane chatter about campus, about the dorms , about Taehyung and Jungkook and sharing with classes with them, about Hoseok who will be his senior. He talks and Yoongi’s heart aches because he knows that he will not be a part of this.  

Seokjin was right. Jimin hasn’t realized it yet but he is moving on and looking at the future with his head held high. Yoongi is chained to the past. The further he walks, the further Yoongi falls behind. Frustration builds just at the mere thought. It’s like smoke, thick and heavy, and one day it will choke the two of them to death.

Yoongi is going to end it before that day comes.

“Hey hyung,” Jimin whispers, hands tightening on Yoongi’s fingers. “Look.”

Fireworks explode above them, a glorious burn of gold and yellow and red. Sparks shower down in rainy trails and against the black background of the sky they are beautiful array of artwork. Yoongi doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until Jimin exhales, having exhausted his air supply.

“Isn’t it amazing,” he breathes and Yoongi gives a small nod in agreement.

“Happy new year hyung,” Jimin grins, turning and pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s cheek. It’s messy and slips so that he ends up kissing Yoongi’s ear instead. Yoongi grins like a fool and wraps an arm around Jimin’s neck, tugging him over and kissing him properly on the lips.

 _That’s how you’re supposed to do it kid,_ he says and Jimin laughs, eyes flattening and creases appearing. Jimin’s gotten good at reading his lips, as much as he is at kissing them.

Jimin leans forwards to kiss Yoongi again. “Better?” he says teasingly and Yoongi rolls his eyes.

Another shower of red and blue flickers in Yoongi’s peripheral.

“I have something for you hyung,” Jimin says softly, pulling something out of his pocket. It’s a necklace with a thick black cord and a stone pendant on the end. There are two of them, a matching set. “I thought we could start the new year with a promise.”

Something sticks in Yoongi’s throat, heavy and unyielding. He takes the necklace and loops it over his head. It sits just above his breastbone, uncomfortably warm.

“It looks good on you,” Jimin beams.

 _I have something for you as well,_ Yoongi says and presses a solid object into Jimin’s hand. Jimin unfurls his fingers to find a tiny USB stick.

“This is?”

 _The song I said I was writing_.

“Yeah?” Jimin sounds pleased as he pockets it. “Am I the first person to listen to it?”

Yoongi fights to keep the smile off his face. Cheeky little brat. _Of course,_ he says. _It’s your song._

Jimin’s eyes widen. “A song? For me? Mine? You wrote it for me?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes to hide his amusement and nods. _Yes, yours._

Jimin’s heart does a little stutter. It isn’t the first time that Yoongi has written a song incorporating his feelings for Jimin into, but this is the first time Yoongi has written a song purely for Jimin.

Jimin’s cheeks are beginning to hurt from smiling so hard. “What’s the occasion for?” he asks teasingly, nudging Yoongi gently.

Yoongi’s smile flickers and fades.

Jimin notices it. “Hyung?”

There’s a spark of gold, small and it is swallowed into the blackness of the night almost instantly. A brother joins it in the sky but it too is quickly doused by the darkness.

 _Jimin…_ Yoongi starts and then falters. _I…_

Seokjin’s right. The movies make it look much easier than it really is.

Yoongi reaches out with one finger, touches to Jimin’s cheeks that are tinged with the winter chill. _I want you to be happy. No matter what_ , he writes across skin.

“Hyung-“ Jimin starts, but Yoongi shushes him with a kiss.

 _I love you Park Jimin,_ he writes, nose touching against Jimin’s and Jimin’s eyes are wide, staring right into Yoongi’s depths. This is all Yoongi can think of saying. Famous last words these are. _I will always love you and I will always watch over you._

He presses a gentle kiss to Jimin’s lips, nose, eyes, a final one to his forehead. One hand sneaks around the back of Jimin’s head. It’s gentle and as Yoongi strokes downwards Jimin feels an incredible urge to close his eyes. He resists it. Or at least he tries to. The words, the promise, the song. It can only mean one thing.

“Don’t do this hyung, please,” he begs, his voice a weak trickle as the fireworks above them comes to a climax.

Yoongi shakes his head and smiles softly, presses one final kiss to Jimin’s lips. Gods, he’ll miss them. _Goodbye Park Jimin_ , he mouths into the soft press there and Jimin reads his words against lips and skin. He’s crying before he even understands what is happening.

Yoongi’s fingers clasp around the back of Jimin’s cranium as the final burst of fireworks ricochet above them, again and again and again like starbusts of love. 

There’s a heartbeat. A flicker of white. Jimin closes his eyes and the fireworks echo behind the lids in showers of gold and silver and red. They spark and flash and then as all things do, they vanish.

*

“Yoongi!” Seokjin yells, skidding to a halt.

He watches as Yoongi lowers Jimin’s unconscious form to the soft grass beneath. When he stands, he looks every bit the foreign spirit he is.

“You didn’t have to erase his memories, you know that right Yoongi?” Seokjin says as he searches deep into Yoongi’s eyes.

 _Jimin and I are not like Namjoon and you_ , Yoongi says firmly, one hand touching to the necklace that Jimin had begged Seokjin to help him pick out. _You can survive knowing that Namjoon is somewhere better even if it is not by your side. Jimin can’t._  

“He’ll learn He’ll grow. We’ll help him,” Seokjin protests.

 _Maybe,_ Yoongi muses. _But either way, this is for the better._ He looks down at his hands which flicker once. _I don’t have much longer now that I’ve extinguished Jimin’s memories of me._

He looks down at Jimin’s sleeping form and a fond expression dances over his face in the creasing of his eyes and the flicker of a tiny smile.

There is a movement from behind Yoongi. Seokjin looks past him to see Namjoon appear.

No words are needed.

Namjoon presses his lips close in that unique smile of his and closes his eyes, ducking his head slightly to Seokjin. _I missed you_ , he says with his smile alone.

Seokjin grips his fists and wills them to stay by his side. _I missed you too._

Namjoon turns to Yoongi, breaking the spell. “Are you ready?” he says in words that Seokjin cannot hear. Only Yoongi can, but right now he is carding his fingers through Jimin’s mussed hair one last time. They linger at the crown of his head, and then Yoongi breaks away.

 _Take care of him for me_ , Yoongi says throatily to Seokjin.

 “I will,” Seokjin promises, tears burning at the back of his throat. Why on earth do movies make it sound so easy? It really isn’t.

 _Make sure he eats on time and gets to classes and doesn’t drink too much_ , Yoongi says.  

Seokjin mouth trembles. “I will.”

_Make sure he gets out there and tries out all the things he wants to try. Make sure he finds a dream and follows it._

“I got it,” Seokjin says tightly.

 _And…if he should fall in love with another person, make sure that person is perfect for him._ Yoongi can feel his body begin to tremble. Once again he’s thankful that he cannot cry. What a scene he’d be elsewise. The one and only Min Yoongi, crying right before he vanishes. Now that would be a movie scene.

Seokjin’s eyes soften. “I will.”

 _And…_ Yoongi presses the heel of his hands to his eyes. He cannot cry but he sure feels like he wants to right now. _And…_

There is a warm hand on his shoulder. Namjoon’s. “Seokjin will take care of him,” he says gently.

Yoongi’s body flickers again and so does Namjoon’s. It’s like they’re connected, both of them beings from a world away.

Namjoon looks over the top of Yoongi’s head to Seokjin. There’s a terrible longing in those eyes and Seokjin has to wrap his arms around himself, a last ditch attempt to stop himself from running over and holding Namjoon back.

“I’ll take care of him Yoongi,” he promises throatily. _You take care of yourself_ , is his silent wish to Namjoon.

Namjoon’s eyes burn back, a comet racing to catch up to the passing star.

“It’s time to go,” he says to Yoongi and Yoongi snatches one last glimpse of Jimin’s sleeping form, his chest rising and falling, his hand clasped to the necklace. There are so many memories there and saying farewell is the hardest thing Yoongi feels like he has to do. He never had to do it the first time round.

His bottom lip trembles and Yoongi turns before his lips can betray him further.

Namjoon blinks once, a goodbye to Seokjin and Seokjin watches as they both take a step backwards.

Seokjin loses it. He stumbles forwards, one hand flying out and Namjoon bites down on his lip as he they clasp hands and intertwine fingers.

“Goodbye Namjoon,” Seokjin whispers brokenly as he presses a chaste kiss to Namjoon’s lips. When he pulls away Namjoon’s eyes are wide and shiny.  

 _Love you_ , he mouths, because Namjoon has never been able to say goodbye, and then before either of them can betray their promise again, the wind blows, and Yoongi and Namjoon are gone.  

*

“Hyung!” Taehyung hollers as he pounds over to where Seokjin still stands, the ghost of a kiss on his lips. “Where did you run off to? Jungkook wanted to get candy but we ran out of money and Hoseok said we could only buy toffee apple if you said it was okay and-“

He looks down at where Jimin is curled into the grass. “Why are you sleeping here Jiminnie?” he kicked at Jimin’s torso with one sneakered foot.

“Taehyung!” Seokjin chides, more out of pure habit than anything else. His voice comes across as exhausted. He feels it in every bone of his body.

Taehyung shrugs and drops to a squat, swirling a lollipop in his mouth. “Jimin, Jimin, Jimin-ah,” he says as he pokes Jimin’s cheek with one finger.

Seokjin is too tired to say anything.

“It’s not good to be sleeping out in the cold Jiminnie,” Taehyung says. “Wake up before you catch a cold.”

Seokjin’s brow furrows as he realizes not for the first time that as scatterbrained as Taehyung may seem, he actually takes quite good care of Jimin and Jungkook.

There’s the pattering of feet as Hoseok and Jungkook approach them. “Is Jimin okay?” Hoseok asks immediately, heading straight for his sleeping form.

“He-“ Seokjin starts, but words fail him. How can he explain what Yoongi has done?

Hoseok shakes Jimin by the shoulder gently and Jimin stirs. He blinks and opens eyes, dark as pitch. Seokjin makes his way over and sinks down into the grass.

“Are you okay Jiminnie?” he asks gently.

Jimin doesn’t reply at first. His eyes roam in their sockets, his lips move but he doesn’t speak. It’s like he’s readjusting to his body. In a way he probably is. Having your memories wiped must not be an easy affair.  

“H…yung?” he eventually croaks.

“Yeah,” Seokjin breaths with relief. “Do you remember me?”

Hoseok’s brow furrows at the question, but he chooses not the voice it then and there. Instead he helps Jimin sit up, one hand resting at the small of his back.

“I…know who you are hyung,” Jimin manages, his voice still pitifully small and lost. “What happened?”

Seokjin hates lying, but then again half his life has been a lie ever since Namjoon died. “You fainted,” he says. “How do you feel now? What can you recall?”

Jimin looks at his hand, empty and bare. The necklace lies limp on his chest. “I feel a little dizzy,” he admits. “And I can’t remember what happened. Why are we here? What happened? Who was I with?” He looks searching at Seokjin. “I feel like I was with someone, but why can’t I remember who it was?”  

Seokjin swallows. This will be the first of many lies. A castle of lies and he builds it fallen body upon fallen body. “You can’t remember who that person was?”  

Jimin shakes his head slowly. “Am I supposed to?” he asks innocently.    

There’s a burn in Seokjin’s chest at Jimin’s expectant gaze, heavy and ashy. “No,” he says slowly, ignoring Jungkook, Taehyung and Hoseok’s curious stares. “No, you’re not supposed to at all.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to edit! And it's really really long. urgghh i apologize, but i hope you enjoyed it and the characters weren't too ooc. One more part to come and then the story's finished.


	3. Act 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you’re happy, then I’m happy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for Anna, because who else puts up with me and my insufferable lack of updates more than she does. This isn't 24 hours, but will it do?

#    
|future| 

It’s spring now.

The sky is powder white and the clouds are near non-existent, soft sponges of china white across an artist’s blank canvas. It’s like the snow is in the sky rather than on the ground. Jimin wanders along the park path with one hand out, hopeful that maybe a flake or two will still fall.

“Jimin,” Seokjin says softly from behind him. “We should go home soon.”

Jimin lowers his hand and turns to meet his worried gaze.

Ever since Yoongi has vanished, Jimin has walked the streets of Seoul with a look akin to a lost sheep. Seokjin worries that one day he’ll walk into an oncoming car, or off some cliff, or just simply go out and never come back.

It’s happened before.

Two days after Yoongi vanished, Jimin had wandered out at three in the morning when Seokjin and Hoseok had dozed off, exhausted from maintaining a constant watch on him. Seokjin had then woken to their nice neighbor – a sweet-faced ahjumma in her fifties from the flat above – ringing his doorbell.

“I think that sweet boy who’s staying with you is outside. He’s just standing in the snow, kind of just staring and-“

Seokjin had torn past the neighbor. He had apologized profusely later, but at that point of time terror had taken over. He had yelled for Hoseok and raced outside in nothing but a thin shirt, sweatpants and socks. 

Jimin had been standing where the pavement ended and the roads began, his eyes distant and one hand wrapped around the stone pendant necklace he had refused to take off ever since New Year’s.

“Jimin!” Seokjin had grabbed his arms like Jimin was a bird about to take flight. “What are you doing? Let’s go back. It’s cold out here.”

His skin had been frigid, tantamount to how long he had been standing there. Early January snow and late December sorrow dusted his eyelashes.

He had turned slowly to look at Seokjin, whose heart was hammering like a hummingbird.

“I thought I heard someone calling for me,” Jimin had said quietly in answer, his voice a faint whisper in the cold air.

Seokjin had done a three sixty of the area and saw no one. Not Namjoon, not Yoongi. Not that by right, they could have been there. They should have long vanished into whatever world awaited the dead.

“Let’s go home,” Seokjin had said softly and steered him back to the house. The neighbor had still been there, waiting with an open mouth hidden behind one hand as Seokjin pushed Jimin through the open door and into Hoseok’s open arms.

Only then did Seokjin calm down. There was something inherently reassuring about the sight of Jimin in Hoseok’s arms that not even the touch of Jimin beneath his hands could assure.

Months ago it had been Hoseok who had saved him. Months later and it would still be Hoseok who would save him.

“I apologize,” Seokjin had said, turning and remembering his manners. The neighbor had stared after Jimin’s retreating back with wide eyes. “He – Jimin – he’s been having a hard time lately. He…lost someone important to him just recently,” Seokjin had tried to explain, but words would never do justice to the ragged emotions that sliced deep into Jimin’s veins.

Luckily enough the neighbor seemed pacified by his answer and had oohed and aahed in all the right places. Finally after ten minutes did she return to her own flat, having well outstayed her welcome. She had bowed politely, but Seokjin had seem the hungry gleam in her eyes for gossip and knew he’d have to do better to keep the rumors under wraps. When she had finally gone, Seokjin had closed the door with more than minute relief and bolted it.  

Hoseok was in Seokjin’s bedroom, smoothening down Seokjin’s favorite baby blue covers over Jimin’s fast asleep form. He looked so pale under the silver moonlight and even here, grounded by Hoseok’s touch and the familiarities of Seokjin’s personal things. Jimin had looked translucent – transient – and for a split of a second Seokjin wondered if he was halfway to ghosthood already.

Idiot! he scolded himself silently. He couldn’t think like that. He wasn’t going to lose Jimin as well.

But… it was at times like these when Jimin was fast asleep and looking so porcelain and fragile that Seokjin wondered just how easy it would be to lose him. Like if he touched him just that little bit too hard, would Jimin shatter into a thousand pieces? Or maybe if he tried, his hand would just go right through him?

*

Hoseok and Seokjin have their nightly meetings in the kitchen. They drag in the plush chairs from the living room and make their respective hot drinks and curl up and talk about whatever needs talking about.

Lately that’s basically Park Jimin, Park Jimin, and Park Jimin.

Hoseok leans back in his scruffy green chair, hands cupping a steaming mug. Seokjin doesn’t need to see the color of the contents to know. Hot cocoa is Hoseok’s go-to drink when he’s worried. And tonight is a night to be worried.

Seokjin had been walking home with Jimin from the park, nattering away endlessly about possible ingredients for dinner as they scoured the rows of the supermarket. He had turned around and Jimin had not been there. Panic had gripped him like the claws of a hawk and he had dropped the shopping basket and raced back a hundred meters or so to find Jimin staring intensely at the instant noodle aisle. 

“Jimin,” Seokjin had panted, skidding to a halt, palpable relief on his face. “You should tell me if you’re stopping. What? Did you want some ramen? It’s not healthy to eat it all the time but if you want some-“

“He always liked instant noodles, didn’t he?” Jimin had said softly and Seokjin had frozen. His eyes when he had turned to look at Seokjin were unbearably sharp, pupils blown and magnified.

It had unnerved Seokjin slightly. “Yes he did,” he said and then he had wrapped his hands around Jimin’s wrist and forcibly tugged him away.

Jimin had gone unresistingly and Seokjin had decided they could just order in for dinner that night.

“We can’t just keep skirting around the subject of Yoongi,” Hoseok says now, steam from his hot chocolate clouding his vision. “He evidently remembers things. Bits and pieces. Fragments.”

“We can’t just tell him everything,” Seokjin argues back.

“I’m not saying we should,” Hoseok muses, picking up on Seokjin’s irritation and choosing not to clash with it. “I just think we should help Jimin move on. Give him answers when he needs them, and guidance which he definitely needs.”

Seokjin takes a sip of his tea, warm and soothing, and says, “I think he should move in permanently with us. It’s been nearly a month now and he has no reason to return to Yoongi’s flat.”

Hoseok thinks that one over. Then, in an even voice, he says, ““I think Jimin should move in with Taehyung and Jungkook.”

Seokjin’s eyes widen.

Hoseok does not drop his gaze. “They get along well,” he says seriously. “And they’re all trying to get into the same university. It’s only a matter of time before they decide it themselves. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already thought of it.”

Seokjin doesn’t speak He just clutches his mug of tea tighter. That in itself is a response. Hoseok can read it in the way his knuckles whiten and his lips purse that Seokjin – mother bear of all mother bears – does not want to let his little charge go. “Seokjin,” Hoseok says in a reasonable tone. “It’d do Jimin good to live around people the same age as him.”

“I’m only 22,” Seokjin says a little mutinously.

Hoseok’s lips quirk upwards. “Yes and Jimin is 19. You graduated last year; Jimin is just about to start his college life. There’s some things best shared with people who are in the same situation as he is, and Taehyung and Jungkook are just that. It’s not like he’s moving countries. We can still go over and check on him. And those two will take good care of him. It’d be a new start for Jimin.”

Seokjin frowns into his tea. As usual Hoseok has infallible arguments and Seokjin wishes he wouldn’t.

“Not just yet,” Seokjin says in compromise. “Give it a little more time to…”

Hoseok nods understandingly. “Let’s talk about it with Jimin first,” he suggests and Seokjin sighs, but gives in.  

*

Jimin yawns as the sunlight settles in through the curtains, a gentle caress of light and dust motes. He pushes back the covers and pads on bare feet across the carpet to the bathroom where he can brush his teeth and wash his face roughly.

The water is cold and it shocks him awake.

It doesn’t shock back the memories, no matter how much he wishes it could.

He’s been sleeping over at Seokjin and Hoseok’s house for nearly three weeks now. In the beginning he slept in Seokjin’s bed, soft and clean smelling, and Seokjin bunked with Hoseok. But when it became clear that Jimin was going to be a permanent fixture to the house, Seokjin set him up with the tiny room adjacent to the kitchen. It technically was meant to be for storage but it’s big enough to fit in a tiny bed and an unfolding wardrobe and that’s okay. That’s all Jimin needs.

He tends to spend his days out with Taehyung and Jungkook, sometimes at their house playing games or watching movies, sometimes out in the city, roaming. He’ll then spend evenings with Hoseok and Seokjin in the kitchen, curled up with mugs and laughter. Nights will be in his little room, winding down into sleep. Mornings then are spent alone, going for jogs around the waking city. Seokjin had been against this at first, but eventually Hoseok had persuaded him and Jimin’s grateful for that. It’s allowed him to form a basis of normality. Or at least the semblance of one.  

A recent  _real_ development is Hoseok inviting him to join his dance crew. Hoseok keeps telling Jimin that he’s a natural and if anything, Jimin is finding himself naturally loving the act of it. The heavy beat thudding in his ears and the slick sheen of sweat as he works hard to keep up with the others keeps him occupied from the nightmares that wake him up frequently, from the voices that whisper at the back crevices of his mind.

He doesn’t bring it up with any of them because he knows it’ll only make them worry.

Seokjin sat him down one week after his fainting incident at Han River and told him the truth. Three months ago he lost someone dear to him and the shock made him lose part of his memory. At first he seemed like he was coping, but then something happened and it all went downhill. Seokjin had taken him in, deeming it unsafe to leave him unattended and that’s where they are now.

Seokjin worries. He worries so much that Jimin doesn’t know how to make him not. And Jimin really wants him to stop worrying.

Jimin hopes that by entering University and generating a stable schedule he can make it happen. He just hopes that Jungkook and Taehyung won’t replace what Seokjin and Hoseok are doing. Sometimes Jimin feels that all four of them are in on some secret that revolves around Jimin, but is one that he’ll never be told about.  

There are times when Jimin senses a sharp look from Jungkook, mature beyond his years. Now and then Taehyung will glance over, looking uncharacteristically solemn. Then there are times when Hoseok and Seokjin will be deep in talk and Jimin will walk into the room, a towel around his shoulders and hair dripping and the two will suddenly quieten, as if Jimin has intruded onto something private. Seokjin will flash a quick smile and Hoseok will babble about something pointless and they will all try to smoothen over the large pithole that they have been digging to hide their little secrets.

Jimin doesn’t want to pry. All he really wants is one thing.  _His name._

It’s always there on the tip of his tongue. There’s an M in it. Jimin’s sure of that. And maybe a G? Or is a J?

No matter how hard he tries to force it out, he can never remember the entirety of the name and he hates it. Jimin hates not knowing. Hates that they are not telling.

It can’t hurt, can it? Just knowing a name. It’s not like it’ll bring the dead back anyway.

“Hurry up Jimin,” Hoseok calls, rapping on the bathroom door. “We’re supposed to meet up with the crew in half an hour.”

“Got it hyung,” Jimin mumbles back and rinses his mouth.

He and Hoseok have a gig with the crew tonight. It’s a small thing in some suburban warehouse, just a little bit of fun, just a little taster of what the real stage could be like. Jimin’s a little nervous, but Hoseok is beyond ecstatic, and these days Jimin wants whatever makes Hoseok and Seokjin happy.

Jimin rubs at his eyes and turns off the tap. Maybe if he works hard today he’ll be able to sleep well tonight.

“About time,” Hoseok chides playfully as Jimin pushes open the bathroom door with a yawn. Hoseok slaps his open mouth teasingly and Jimin mock bites it back. “We’re leaving in fifteen,” Hoseok sings as he slips past Jimin into the bathroom, fully dressed in sweats and a tank already.

They’re out the door in ten, Seokjin stuffing toast in their mouths as he bids them goodbye. His eyes are half closed and Jimin’s certain that the minute the door closes Seokjin will be stumbling back to bed and his beauty sleep. Jimin has noticed that Seokjin hasn’t been sleeping all that well lately either. He hopes it’s not because of him as well.

*

“Hey!” Hoseok greets them cheerfully, far too cheerfully for seven in the morning. Jungkook just gives a wide yawn in response. Speaking requires too much effort.

Hoseok chuckles at him and walks over to Taehyung who is fast asleep leaning against a lamppost. He slips one hand through Taehyung’s messy bed hair, ruffling it and trying to wake him gently back into consciousness.

“C’mon, up and at them,” Hoseok says and Taehyung just topples forwards into Hoseok’s chest, falling asleep again. “Hey, Taehyung!”

Jungkook watched idly, not bothering to move. Hoseok should know by now that nothing can wake up Taehyung he hasn’t gotten more than eight hours of sleep, and last night the two of them were up playing Mario Karts till three.

There’s a movement as Jimin plops down onto the stone wall next to him. Jungkook watches him cautiously. He looks pale and tired, dark smudges under his eyes. He probably hasn’t been sleeping well. Jungkook doesn’t blame him.

He’s smiling though, a tiny one, like if he stretched his lips any wider they’d crack. Jungkook watches Jimin watch Hoseok and Taehyung interact, and when Jimin yawns, it’s contagious and Jungkook finds himself yawning.

The Jimin of now doesn’t feel that much different compared to the Jimin of a few months ago, when Jungkook had first met him through Taehyung and Hoseok, wandering in the snowy fields, apparently alone. He wasn’t though.

His name had been Min Yoongi and he had been Jimin’s boyfriend of a year and a half. To this day Jungkook doesn’t really know what he looks save for a tiny passport size photo of Jimin and Yoongi in one of those photo booths, the majority of the page taken up by pink flower stickers and blue balloons. From looks alone Jungkook would have never thought that the two would make a good pair: Jimin too soft and sweet, all bubbly like champagne, and then this Yoongi guy, all sharp eyes and downward curl to his lips in a smirk. Hoseok however had maintained that they were the best of pairs.

“What are you looking at Kookie?” Jimin says teasingly and Jungkook’s eyes slit, his hand dropping down and his head turning away with embarrassment that Jimin had caught him. It was way too early for him to be dealing with Jimin and his innate cheesiness.

Jungkook looks instead to Hoseok who is basically supporting a snoring Taehyung.

“The bus should be here soon,” Hoseok groans from under sixty kilos of Kim Taehyung. “We should get going.”

Jungkook nods and manages to get to his feet. They’re stiff and he has to stretch them before he can walk properly. Jimin follows suit so smoothly that Jungkook had once thought he’d been dancing all his life. He overtakes Jungkook, matching strides with Hoseok who is basically piggy-backing Taehyung to the bus stop, and Jungkook is forced to watch Jimin’s strong muscles flex, where the material of his jacket has bunched and exposed skin. He’s so strong, and yet Seokjin is so determined that he is not strong enough to take the truth.

Seokjin had sat them down the night after the fireworks and had explained everything from the start. Of Yoongi and Jimin, of himself and Namjoon, of beginnings and of endings. Of how Yoongi had erased the memories of himself from Jimin’s mind.

“You mean Jimin can’t remember Yoongi-hyung at all?” Jungkook had asked, wide eyed as he tried to digest the situation. This was all so surreal, a world Jungkook had only ever seen on TV or in books. Fantasy and myth and magic.

Seokjin had nodded, slicing apart the divide between the two realms.

“So what happens if we mention his name, or try to trigger past events?” Jungkook hadn’t been able to hold himself back, curiosity overriding.  _How far can we push him_ , he wanted to ask.

Seokjin bit his lower lip. “I don’t know. He hasn’t reacted to the name Yoongi yet, but I don’t think we should try to invoke anything. Who knows what it will do. Let’s just try and keep it to ourselves for now.”

Taehyung had crooked an eyebrow. “So what are you telling Jiminnie? I mean he’s got this gaping hole in his memories now. He’s going to want to know the truth eventually.”

Jungkook had nodded quietly.

Seokjin had sighed. “The partial truth I guess,” he said. “We’re going to tell Jimin that he lost someone he loved, and as a result he got selective amnesia. We’ll work from there onwards. For now don’t mention anything about Yoongi to him.”

Jungkook had cowed under Seokjin’s sharp stare and agreed, but a mutinous part inside him disagreed. Something this big couldn’t be kept quiet forever.

That thought still burns poker hot at the back of his mind, even now as Jungkook treads quietly behind Hoseok, Taehyung and Jimin. He still wonders what would happen if he just  _gave in_  to that urge and let his fingers wrap around the material of Jimin’s jersey and tug him back.

Jimin would turn, eyes wide with surprise and mouth falling open in question. Jungkook knows Jimin well enough to predict that.

But what would happen next if Jungkook leaned forwards, let his lips brush against Jimin’s ears, and whispered those two magical words:  _Min Yoongi_.

“Who?” Jimin might ask, shivering slightly.

Jungkook would pull away so that Jimin could see his eyes, the straight wrench of his lips, the tenseness of the words as they came out.  _He’s the man you loved_ , he would say.

Shock? Surprise? Flat out denial? Jungkook can’t predict how Jimin will react, and it irks him. Jungkook likes to know people. Likes to be able to read them inside out. Upside down.

He can only guess with Jimin, and the uncertainty frustrates him.

Jungkook would like to imagine Jimin’s reaction akin to a train wreck, front cart crashed headfirst off the railroads. Despair in all its grey toned glory.

Jungkook chews at his lower lip as he realizes he can’t imagine a tragic looking Jimin. It's just...incomprehensible. 

But that would be the case. I mean, this is the man Jimin loved, and this is apparently what loving someone means.

Hoseok calls for Jungkook to hurry up as they sight the bus a few hundred meters away. Jungkook kicks down and jogs forwards, catching up with Jimin who is glancing back and waiting for him, his expression anything but tragic.

Jungkook shakes his head and the thoughts away. Those questions will have to wait for another day. They're too private, too probing, but Jungkook wants answers and Jimin's face would be a one way track to it. There's so many things he wants to ask.  _How do you know you love him? What is like to then lose him? I_ _s loving someone even worth it?_

Because from what he’s seen so far, he wouldn’t say it is.

But to ask that, Jimin would first have to remember Yoongi. And so they're back to square one. 

*

The dancing gig is an absolute success and all four of them stumble out of the warehouse high on adrenaline. Taehyung has his arms wrapped around Jungkook and Hoseok’s shoulders, tugging them all into one unsteady chain. Hoseok has linked his free arm with Jimin. Jungkook grins, sweaty and tired but exhilarated and for once he doesn’t mind the excessive skinship.  

“Let’s go clubbing!” Taehyung suggests, crowing loudly.

Hoseok pauses and frowns at him. “But Jungkook-“

“I turned eighteen last September hyung,” Jungkook reminds him casually and waves his ID at him as proof.

“But Seokjin-“ Hoseok tries.

“Won’t know a thing,” Jungkook finishes with a roll of his eye. “It’s fine. We won first place. Let’s go celebrate for a bit. We don’t have to drink much.”

Hoseok really wants to refute them all, but there are three pairs of eyes shining up at him and it’s pretty hard to refuse.

“Oh please hyung,” Jimin begs. “I haven’t been clubbing in what…ages?”

Hoseok squints at him and thinks that the kid probably can’t even remember anyway. Yoongi never really liked the strobe lights and electronic house music the clubs around here seemed to favor so the two had never gone often. If Jimin had gone clubbing before it’d be before he got in deep with Yoongi.

“Fine,” he sighs and the three kids cheer. “But I’m telling Seokjin.”

Taehyung pouts and makes to grab his phone. “I’ll get him to join us,” Hoseok explains as he dodges Taehyung’s grab and presses send. Barely a few second pass before there’s a beep and Seokjin’s furious reply is being sent back.

_Wait! What? Isn’t Jungkook underaged?!_

Hoseok smirks as types out a reply whilst the kid in question flags down a taxi.  _Apparently he turned eighteen in September._

Seokjin’s second reply is even faster.  _Wait, and we didn’t celebrate it?_

Hoseok’s smile slips for a second. And he realizes why. September was when Yoongi died. October when he came back. November when Hoseok learnt of it. And December when he vanished again.

Hoseok slides into the taxi seat next to Jungkook. He leans forwards to rattle off some Hongdae address to the taxi driver , but when he’s done his eyes return to Jungkook.

“What’s wrong hyung?” Jungkook asks, all soft and quiet. Hoseok shakes his head, unable to find the words he needs, so he just runs a hand through Jungkook’s hair, hoping it will say everything his mouth cannot.

Apparently it doesn’t really because Jungkook raises an eyebrow and wrinkles his nose, going “What is it hyung?” But he doesn’t pull away which makes Hoseok smiles a little.

“Nothing,” he says, and makes a silent promise to buy something nice for Jungkook later.

*

The club is not as fun as Jimin thought it would be.

He can’t exactly remember when was the last time he went all out, tipping back drinks until the world slowly slipped into a blurry haze of strobe lights and thumping music, but this is exactly how tonight goes.

One moment there’s Hoseok with his arm slung around Jimin’s shoulders, far too close for comfort and laughter just that little bit too loud. The next Jungkook is tipping a drink right down his throat, somehow two shots ahead of him yet a thousand times steadier than Jimin feels after his third. Jungkook smirks and vanishes and then there’s Seokjin, shaking his head and leading Jimin to a chair so that he can sit down and let the world stop spinning.

It gets better for a second. The world stops swaying and if Jimin squints he can make out Taehyung slow dancing with Jungkook in the middle of the dance floor much to everyone else’s amusement and Jungkook’s absolute despair. Seokjin has gone off to get him water or something and Hoseok is chatting with someone who Jimin doesn’t know.

And then just as Jimin thinks he’s sobering up for good, there’s a voice at the crook of his ear.

_Jimin_ , it whispers, low and sultry, deep and dark.

Jimin spins his head and the world goes back to its psychedelic swirl again. Wrong move.

_Jimin_ , says the voice again, this time to his right.

His eyes widen and his hands clutch tightly into the chair. He’s imagining things. He must be damn drunk if that’s the case, and Jimin feverishly hopes Seokjin comes back with water quickly.

But then-  _Haven’t I always told you to go easy on the drinks! You’re such a lightweight. Really._

His mouth falls open unbidden. He can see someone now, bending down in front of him, warm hands brushing away his fringe. The outline is shadowy, substantial-less. But this voice – chiding and gentle and caring – this voice is so familiar that it makes Jimin’s heart ache.

“Who are you?” Jimin manages in a cracking croak.

There’s an amused snort. A hand that taps at his forehead.  _What? Have you drunk so much you can’t even remember me?_  It’s a voice tinged with sadness like he’s expecting this, but trying to lighten up his words with a joke.

Jimin’s tongue feels ten times too big for his mouth, swollen and snake like. His head thumps incessantly in time with the beats of the stereo.

_My name is-_

The voice grows fader. The shadows retreat and Jimin throws himself out of the chair as the shadow grows further away. “Don’t go!” he yells and takes chase, unsteady feet leading him out of the club and down some hallway and he bursts out into an alleyway where there’s a couple making out furiously to the right of him. They startle and stare, but he must be unimpressive because they go back to kissing seconds later.

Jimin doesn’t care. His eyes are frantic, straying everywhere. Where is the shadow? Where is he? He needs to know his name.

_Yoon-_

Jimin swivels to the right. He sprints out of the alleyway, grabs the brick wall and swings himself around. There, a few hundred meters away, the shadowy form.

“What’s your name?” he yells, begging almost, out of breath, out of mind.

The shadow turns and Jimin can make out a small stature, disobedient hair, bright eyes that stand out.  _Min,_ the shadow mouths.  _Min Yoon-_  is all Jimin can make out before the words fizzle out like static. But with the loss of words comes the clarity of features. Hands reach out towards Jimin, and they’re not shadowy anymore, they’re firm and strong and so goddam familiar. Jimin’s eyes latch onto them, slide up the stranger’s forearm, to his chest, his shoulders, eyes, nose, lips, they all suddenly stand out starkly like some painter has taken an ink brush and outlined the strongest features of this person.

_Move!_ the shadow yells in a hoarse, overwhelmingly clear voice. Jimin’s eyes go wide and he turns just in time to see the bright yellow lights of an incoming car.

*

Before Seokjin even hears a name or a description he knows it is Jimin.

“Where is he?” he demands as he manhandles his way to the front, grabbing the arm of the boy who looks not much older than sixteen and practically shaking the information out of him.

“Out the club, turn right,” the boy stammers. “There’s a pretty big crowd there. You can’t miss it.” He’s young and has always wanted to be front stage with information like this, famous for fifty seconds, but being confronted by men like these, he didn’t sign up for that. He lets out a visible sigh as Seokjin drops his hand and races out of the club.

Seokjin tumbles out of the club, the crisp air nipping at his short sleeved shirt, his jacket still somewhere back in the club. He curses as he tries to gather his bearings.

Fuck. He knew this was a bad idea.

The kid was right. He wasn’t going to miss the crowd.

This late at night there’s barely anyone else around. Just one car parked haphazardly to a tilt, one door flung open and left there. A mass of bodies surrounds the scene and Seokjin has to thrust himself through to get to the front.

There are two men, one kneeling at Jimin’s prone form, the other standing with a hand dialing 911.

“Jimin,” Seokjin breathes and drops to his knees.

The man kneeling looks at him sharply. “You know him?”

“My housemate,” Seokjin says absentmindedly as his hands flutter over Jimin, unsure of where to land.

“My friend and I were driving home when he came out of nowhere,” the man says in an even voice. “I want no trouble, and we’d rather not involve the police.”

Seokjin turns and he can smell alcohol on the man’s breath. But his steady gaze and calm handling of the situation suggests he’s sober enough to drive straight.

Jimin really doesn’t need any more shit in his life. “Got it,” Seokjin says and turns back to Jimin.

“Should I call for an ambulance?” the other guy with the phone asks, forehead creased.

The kneeling one looks to Seokjin. “I didn’t hit him if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says quickly. “I nearly did, but somehow I braked just in time. He still collapsed though so…”

Seokjin puts two fingers to Jimin’s neck. There’s a steady pulse. He gentle slaps at Jimin’s cheek. “Jimin, Jimin. C’mon Jimin.”

For a few heart pounding seconds there’s nothing. Then Seokjin sees movement behind Jimin’s lids, and slowly they flicker open. They focus on nothing, blank and hazy, and then slowly Jimin zeroes in on Seokjin.

“Hy…ung?” he whispers in a voice dry as cotton.

“Jimin,” Seokjin exhales with palpable relief. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“I…” he says so softly that Seokjin has to bend down to make out his words. In fact it’s easier to just read his lips. “Where did he go?” Jimin mouths, his eyes fluttering close again and his breath evening.

“Who?” Seokjin whispers with horror.

“Yoon…” Jimin says softly. “He said his name was Yoon…gi?” the end of his word rises in tone, like it’s a guess. And it is a guess. Jimin shouldn’t know that name, shouldn’t remember it.

Seokjin leans back on his heels and his hands tremble with horror.

*

Jimin’s had a quick doctor scan and nothing seems to be out of the ordinary.

“He might’ve hit his head hard when he fell, but other than a potential concussion he seems fine,” the doctor reports to a very relieved Seokjin. He tells them that Jimin should stay the night so they can monitor him, and then do another check in the morning when he’s conscious. If all goes well he can go home tomorrow. .

Seokjin opts to sleep over, something he only achieves with a lot of begging and pleading with the nurses. Hoseok takes a wide-eyed Jungkook and Taehyung home. He promises Seokjin he’ll bring fresh clothes and coffee tomorrow morning and then steers both kids out of the door, one hand on a shoulder each.

Seokjin sinks down into the uncomfortable plastic of the chair and watches Jimin sleep. He looks so small in the swatch of white and he twitches now and then, his lips forming soundless words.

Seokjin takes Jimin’s hands, thumbing it gently until his cold knuckles warm up. He holds them close and shuts his eyes, stilling rubbing the cold skin there.

In the all-pervading silence of the room, punctuated only by Jimin’s even breaths, Seokjin wonders again if somehow Yoongi protected Jimin tonight. It’s the only conclusion he can draw, but if it’s true then that means Yoongi is still around. That, or Jimin is hallucinating and everything is still shot to hell.

*

Seokjin enters the hospital room with a solemn expression on his face.

“What’s wrong hyung?” Jimin asks, looking up from where he’s tying the laces of his sneakers. There’s a duffle bag next to him that Hoseok brought this morning, now filled with the clothes Jimin had worn last night and a toothbrush which Hoseok had thoughtfully remembered.

Hoseok has classes and so he’s gone, but Seokjin’s free and supposed to be the one signing him out and taking him home. Only the dark expressions on his face right now doesn’t look like one read to head home. He looks like a man conflicted, with an answer but one that he does not like. It makes Jimin nervous.

“Jimin,” Seokjin says slowly, and Jimin bolts up straight, alert as he can be.

“Yes hyung?”

“Last night…” Seokjin starts and trails off.

Jimin twitches. Last night was not something he wants to remember. If he’s honest with himself it’s not like he even remembers it properly. He just recalls getting pretty tipsy, to the point where the world didn’t really make sense of itself. And then-

Jimin inhales sharply.

Eyes, nose, lips. A stranger’s face yet familiar features. Jimin recognizes them. He knows that he  _knows who that person is._ But in the face of the near-accident, Jimin can’t recall it perfectly. It’s frustrating. Like a photograph faded by time, the outline and the premise of the photo is there, but the features are blurred.

“His name,” Seokjin blurts out and Jimin is startled. “Do you remember it?”

Jimin shakes his head. It’s his biggest regret. He’s almost certain he nearly remembered it last night.

Seokjin stares at his seriously. “Do you want to know?”

Jimin’s mouth falls open. Of course he wants to know. He wants nothing more. Shockingly though, of all times when he knows exactly what he wants to say, words fail Jimin. He nods dumbly, all he can manage.

“Let’s go then,” Seokjin says, his voice taut like a tightrope.

Jimin has to grab his bag and dash to catch up with Seokjin’s fast pace.

 “To where hyung?” he pants.

Where do they need to go to learn a stranger’s name? Why can’t Seokjin just tell him right now and here?

“Hyung!”

“Just follow me Jimin,” Seokjin says, walking so fast that his shoes squeal on the clean linoleum. He speeds past a nurse who squeaks and backs off from the stormy expression set on Seokjin’s face.

Jimin follows, puzzlement drawn all over his own face.

Seokjin flags down a taxi the minute they exit the hospital. He leans forwards to tell the driver an address, his voice low so that Jimin cannot make out where they are going.

“What’s with all the secrecy hyung?” Jimin says, slightly vexed at being jilted.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Seokjin says firmly, and that is all he allows. He crosses his arms and stares out the window the remainder of the journey. Jimin looks to Seokjin’s hands, white knuckles standing out, and decides to keep quiet.

It takes almost an hour to get there. The taxi drops them off at some empty roadside with a trekked path in, and Seokjin thanks him and pays him quietly. Jimin is too busy transfixed by the long flight of stairs at the end of the trail that can lead to only one place.

“Let’s go,” Seokjin says without ceremony and takes the lead.

The stairs feel endless. There must be another way they get the bodies there because it is impossible for someone to carry a coffin, let alone ashes, up this monster of a staircase.

In contrast to the ridiculous number of stairs, the graveyard is incredibly small and simple. Jimin is sweating by the time he gets up there and his ribs ache, but he forgets all of that the moment his eyes lay sight on the sprawl of tombstones, each a different size and shape. Black, grey, white, Jimin feels like he’s stepped into a monochromatic world.

“This way,” Seokjin says softly and winds his way around the tiny pavements. There’s a women praying to their left. She mutters rapidly under her breath, her eyes tightly shut, but Jimin can see the just-dried tear tracks on her cheeks. The grave is decorated with tiny toys. Across from them is a couple, eyes closed, kneeling respectfully. The grave is clean and well-loved. There is a photo of an elderly couple at the foot of the grave and their smile is all brilliant white teeth that make the copious wrinkles pale in comparison. A small pot of flowers graces the top of the smooth marble and incense traces a fine smoky path skywards.

Seokjin halts.

This grave is simple like the others, white stone, long and oblong. Jimin trembles as his eyes focus on the characters, sweeping black strokes that descend from top to bottom. There’s a soft sheen of frost coating it, last night’s chill, as if winter is reluctant to relinquish its hold.

But it’s spring. And it’s a new leaf. And Jimin is doing his best to make sure he doesn’t break down from all the uncertainty and fear and worries.

He’s almost afraid to read it.

“It’s okay,” Seokjin whispers and places a comforting hand to Jimin’s shoulder, steadying him. Jimin drops his duffle bag and sinks to one knee so that he is on eye level with the stone. He takes his right hand to the stone and swipes downwards, clearing away the droplets. The characters glisten and stand out starkly.

**민**

**윤**

**기**

March 9 1993 – August 29 2015

Always loved, in life and in death.

Something burns at the back of his throat, at the base of his eyes, at the cavity behind his nose. It’s hot and it’s fiery and Jimin feels like he’s suffocating on smoke and tears.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Seokjin wraps his arms around him from behind, tucking Jimin into the broad space between his shoulders. “It’s going to be alright Jimin.”

His vision blurs. “Yoongi,” Jimin croaks. “His name was Yoongi.”

“It still is Yoongi,”   Seokjin says, a soothing whisper.

Jimin cranes his neck so that he can turn and look at Seokjin. “He loved me, right?”

Seokjin nods and hugs him tighter. “Yeah,” he says. “He loves you.”  

Jimin buries his face into Seokjin’s chest and winter melts.

*

Seokjin gives him the exact address of the cemetery and the location of Yoongi’s grave so that Jimin can go and visit him whenever he likes. Jimin takes the little sheet of paper quietly and nods his thanks.

They take another taxi home in completely silence, and when they get back Hoseok is there, worry clear in his eyes as he ushers them back in and his hands twitch towards Jimin, like he wants to touch him to check he’s still in one piece.

“Do you want dinner?” Hoseok asks in a wavering voice.

Jimin shakes his head. “I’m tired,” he manages in a voice raspy from crying. “I just want to go to bed,” he says and slips past them to head for his bedroom.

Jimin doesn’t even bother changing his clothes. He just slumps down onto his bed, spread-eagled, the little piece of paper Seokjin gave him clutched tightly in one hand.

His name was Yoongi.

Jimin closes his eyes and the gravestone and its beautiful black characters are imprinted on the back of his lids.

His name was Yoongi.

_His name is still Yoongi_ , Jimin thinks, remembering Seokjin’s words, because people may die but memories never really do.

Jimin raises his hand in which the paper is clasped. He shifts his fingers, moving his thumb so that the first sheet moves, exposing the second one behind. Clasped there like a fragile butterfly is a tiny arcade photo that Seokjin gave him. The quality sucks and half the page is taken up with little hearts stickers, but there he is. Min Yoongi. And Park Jimin.

Jimin is leaning Yoongi’s shoulder, eyes wide with mock surprise. His fingers are wrapped around Yoongi’s back, two fingers sneakily peeking out from behind Yoongi’s head in a V shape. Yoongi isn’t looking at the camera. His eyes are staring at Jimin with a soft gaze, affectionate almost. His mouth doesn’t look it, a sharp caustic smirk that to anyone else would look like he’s not amused at the situation. But Jimin recognizes the affection there, the soft gaze, the gentle hand poking Jimin in the cheek, the other that secretly is laced with Jimin’s free right hand behind both their backs.  

Seokjin had given him the photo after Jimin had stopped crying. It had nearly started another bout of tears, but then the realization that crying would impair his ability to see the photo made Jimin stop.

Yoongi doesn’t look like someone Jimin thought he would date. His features are the completely opposite of what Jimin thinks would be ideal. Too short, too soft, all white skin and black eyes and lazy smirk.

He wonders what made him fall in love with Yoongi.

It makes him wish he could remember. Then it strikes him. He may not remember, but there is someone in this house who does.

Jimin shuffles out into the living room, surprising Hoseok and Seokjin who have dragged the chairs to the kitchen and are curled up with steaming mugs in their hands.

“Jimin?” Seokjin jumps, rising almost immediately. His hands would flutter if they weren’t weighed down with a mug of tea. “Is everything okay?” he settles for.

Jimin bites at his lower lip, feet shuffling at the entrance of the kitchen door. “I…” he tries. “I just…”

Hoseok assesses him carefully. Then he stands and puts down his mug. Jimin can smell the waft of hot chocolate from over here. “Let’s get you a chair,” Hoseok says warmly and drags one in. It’s a tight squeeze and Hoseok had to step over the arm of one chair to get back to his own, but they make it work.

“Do you want something to drink?” Seokjin offers, putting down his own mug.

“Um, milk?” Jimin says the first thing that comes to his mind as Hoseok pushes him back into the old moth eaten green seat.

A bemused smile flickers over Seokjin’s face, but he turns before it becomes permanent and gets himself busy with taking out a blue mug, chipped at one side, and pouring in milk. He heats it up in the microwave and adds honey, stirring it with a spoon.

“Here,” he says gently and offers the drink to Jimin. Jimin takes it gratefully, clasping it with both hands, and it banishes the cold he didn’t even realize was there.

Seokjin and Hoseok both sit down again and look at Jimin expectantly. “So?” Hoseok prompts him. “What’s up?”

Jimin stares into the contents of his mug for a moment, watching the whiteness swirl and thinking back to the color of snow and skin.

“Can you tell me about Yoongi?” he asks, and is met with a two very different gazes. Seokjin’s is tight; Hoseok’s is soft.

“What about him?” Hoseok asks in that gentle voice of his. He leans forwards, eager and receptive.

“Um, tell me about him. What was he like? What did he do? How did he…” the words trail off. Jimin’s not too sure he wants to go that far yet.

Hoseok blinks and takes over smoothly. “Let’s see, Yoongi was…for lack of better words, lazy.”

Jimin blinks, affronted by his bluntness.

Seokjin just laughs. “Yoongi was beyond lazy. The word lazy doesn’t even begin to cover what he was like.”

“Um,” Jimin says, unsure if they’re taking the mickey out of him.

Hoseok grins, eyes crescent shaped. “Yoongi and I grew up together. I’ve known him since we were six and I can tell you that I’ve never seen someone move less than Yoongi-hyung did.”

Seokjin’s eyes brighten. “And all those times I went over to check up on you two and see if you were still alive, and you were doing all the cooking and cleaning and laundry and Yoongi was just lying in bed with his laptop. I can’t believe the stuff you put up that guy.”

“Is that…so…?” Jimin manages, unable to believe that this is the sort of guy he’d fall in love with.

Hoseok cackles. “And that time you complained to us all about how Yoongi wouldn’t have sex with you because it required  _‘too much effort’.”_

Jimin blushes to the roots of his hairs. “Hyung!” he protests and shoves the mug of milk up to hide his beetroot colored face. “I wouldn’t have done such a thing.“

Hoseok just shakes his head sternly at him. “Jimin, you went for two months without sex because Yoongi was too tired from work.”

A look of horror plasters itself to Jimin’s face. “Hyuuung!” he whines and Hoseok stops teasing but the smile on his face does not disappear.

“Okay, okay,” Seokjin takes over, his own bemused smile hidden as he takes a sip of his tea. “So Yoongi. What else can we say about him? Well, he was two years your senior. You both went to the same University. You met him at some basketball court.” Seokjin turns to Hoseok for confirmation.

Hoseok nods. “Yeah. If there were two things Yoongi would ever get bothered about it was music, and basketball.” He pauses and thinks for a second. “Actually make that three. The third one was you.”

Jimin flushes again at Hoseok’s wide grin.

Hoseok grins at Jimin’s easy responses to his teasing. He knows this is exactly why Yoongi fell in love with the dancer. Who wouldn’t? He’s sweet, baby-faced and baby-minded. And yet on the dance floor he becomes someone completely different, enrapturing with his every step, his every slide. Jimin has only been dancing for little over a month now but Hoseok knows at some point Jimin is going to surpass him and go far.

Hoseok remembers Yoongi telling him all about Jimin in a voice barely contained. It was tight as strings, buzzing with electricity. No one else might have noticed it, the two of them sitting in some coffee shop catching up a month or so after Hoseok had first moved out to University dorms and Yoongi staying in their shared apartment of one year, but Hoseok had seem it. The energy thrumming under Yoongi’s skin, the way he would tap his fingers frequently against the arm of the seat, the way his eyes would light up at the mention of Jimin’s name.

“It was a basketball game,” Yoongi had admitted, one of his rare loves. “Ikje invited me. He was one of Ikje’s juniors from his old high school. When he heard that Jimin had been admitted to the same University, he invited him for a game. It was us two against Jimin and another kid.”

“Of course.” Hoseok had wrinkled his nose. So like Yoongi to fall in love with the guy he was supposed to be beating on the basketball court. And knowing him, he probably did beat him Jimin thoroughly. “How old is he?”

Yoongi had paused, a semi-guilty look traversing across his face. “Two years younger,” he admitted and Hoseok had cackled.

“My, my, the big bad Min Yoongi, falling head over heels for some jailbait.”  

“He’s eighteen!” Yoongi had protested, leaning forwards and swiping at Hoseok’s flailing limb. “And since when was I ‘big’ or ‘bad’.”

Hoseok had flashed him a grin. “Remember that one time when you got drunk on your twentieth and went around proclaiming-“

“Ooookay, hold it right there!” Yoongi had smacked a hand over Hoseok’s mouth. He glared at him sharply. “That never happened, okay?”

Beneath Yoongi’s hand, Hoseok’s eyes had twinkled. Yoongi had groaned and sunk back into his chair, knowing this was a lost battle.

“So hyung,” Hoseok had decided to take pity and let it go. “When are you going to introduce me to this Park Jimin?”

Yoongi had rolled his eyes and suggested next week when Hoseok would have a dance showcase somewhere up in Hongdae. He had cited Jimin wanting to see what all the hype about dance was, and that Yoongi had personally thought Jimin would make a pretty good dancer from all the late night noraebangs they had gone on.

Hoseok had laughed and grinned and they had ordered more drinks, discussing further plans and meet ups and in the middle of it, Yoongi’s phone had beeped and he had paused to take it out and check the incoming message and Hoseok could not miss the way his face brightened. It was a small fracture of a change, a tiny splinter in the shell of Min Yoongi, but as it did sunlight spilled through and Hoseok knew that this Park Jimin was someone special.

“What did I love about him?” Jimin asks and to this Hoseok has to shake his head because that was a mystery to him. Yoongi loving Jimin he could understand. Jimin was his polar opposite, all boundless energies and bright smiles. Yoongi was all shadows, and as such he craved sunshine. Jimin was sunlight incarnate.

“You loved the way he watched you,” Seokjin says softly, surprising both Hoseok and Jimin. “I asked you once and you told me it was the way he looked at you, as if you were the most important person on Earth. You said he made you feel loved.”

Jimin’s heart beats out of rhythm, a little staccato jump. “Loved?”

Seokjin nods. “When I asked you this, I told you that honestly I couldn’t understand how the two of you got together. And you just smiled at me like there was nothing offensive with my question at all. You said it was the way Yoongi always watched over. That wherever you went, whatever you did, you knew that Yoongi knew. He would message you when you had to stay over at the library late studying with encouraging messages, or when you had basketball games that he couldn’t attend then he’d come afterwards with a drink or a snack and you’d just know that he cared. You said it made you feel warm on the inside, like with him there you’d never be cold again.”

Jimin puts a hand to his chest. Wonders if the winter landscape in there right now is proof that Yoongi is indeed gone because it has been a long time since Jimin has felt warm the way Seokjin seems to describe it.

 “I-“ Jimin tries to put it in words, the feeling in his chest, full and twisting and he just can’t find the words.

Seokjin just smiles, his head in his hand. “You two really loved each other,” he comments. “I was always jealous of that.” Then his smile drops. “What happened to you two...if I could turn back time, I’d wish anything but that upon you two.”

Jimin’s eyes flicker, confusion pooling at Seokjin’s apparent guilt. “How did he die?” he asks, assuming that is what Seokjin is referring to.

Seokjin stares into the depth of his empty mug. “It was a car accident. It was raining and the breaks were weak and the driver couldn’t stop in time.” He looks up at Jimin, eyes soft and shiny, like rain puddles of their own. “He pushed you out of the way. He died protecting you.”

Jimin’s heart twists, a wrenching iron feeling there. “He was always watching out for me then,” he says in a tiny twisted voice.

Seokjin shakes his head. “He’s still watching out for you,” he whispers, words too quiet for Jimin to hear. He thinks of last night’s accident and wonders again for the umpteenth time if Yoongi has really moved on or not.

*                                                                           

Yoongi has to restrain himself from enveloping Jimin into a hug, to comfort him if anything. He wants to tell him yes, he’s here. Yes, he loves him. Yes, he’s still watching over him.

Only he can’t.

It’s not like before where at least Jimin can see and touch Yoongi. Where at least there was a semblance of conversation through Jimin reading Yoongi’s lips or Yoongi tracing words into skin. This time it’s a one way glass where Yoongi can see and hear everything but no one else knows he is there.

He’s tried. He’s tried speaking, shifting objects, doing anything to gather their attention. His vocal cords don’t work, he can’t even touch normal objects anymore, and of course that means he is all but invisible to them.

When Yoongi tries to touch anything, two things can occur. One is that he’ll simply slip right through it as if he was never there – the only exception is the floor which Yoongi thinks he doesn’t fall through because he’s somewhat hovering an inch above the ground (he tries to think about the mechanics of it) – and the second is that a thin barrier will prevent him from touching.

The latter comes into play whenever Yoongi tries to touch Jimin. Yoongi can walk as close to the boy as he wants, his hands hovering right over Jimin’s cheek that are flushed pink with cold, but the second he tries to make contact with skin something rebuffs him. He can push and prod as hard as he wants, but nothing he does is able to get through. It’s a one way glass truly.

He can see Jimin all he likes, but he’s forbidden from touching him. And to add insult to injury, he can’t move further than a three meter radius away from Jimin.

He’s well and truly chained to Jimin, a living hell where he cannot hide nor comfort his pain.

Yoongi can’t even hear them speak properly. The words are muted, hard to hear, like its being spoken through water. Only through lip reading Yoongi is able to understand their conversation.

It seems that Seokjin and Hoseok have told Jimin all about Yoongi, but the kid himself still doesn’t remember the events. Not for the first time does Yoongi wonder what will happen if he does manage to remember.

Will all of this end?

This strange state of existing, intending to move on but unable to. He’s probably more like the conventional ghost now, one who roams the earth unbeknownst to everyone else.

It’s been like this since New Year’s when Namjoon had taken his hand and Yoongi had closed his eyes, expecting to next open to somewhere completely foreign. Instead he had blinked and found himself in Seokjin’s house, Jimin tucked under the comforters of Seokjin’s bed.

He had tried to touch Jimin and had first felt the resistance. He had then tried to talk to him, but to no avail. And then when he had tried to leave, to find Seokjin and see if he could shed some light, he had walked three meters and found himself unable to walk any further.

Yoongi hasn’t seen Namjoon since that day, though whether that’s because Namjoon has managed to move on or that they’re both there but unable to see one another, Yoongi will never know.

What he does know is that Namjoon’s theory must be flawed because Yoongi has wiped Jimin’s memory, but something is still chaining him here.

_Are you sure he’s completely forgotten you?_  a tiny voice whispers at the back of Yoongi’s mind.

It’s a possibility.

There have been times where Yoongi has whispered Jimin’s name, unable to help himself as the kid sleeps, and he watches as Jimin reacts. It’s a small twitch, a little jerk, the fevered movement of lips. It could be nothing but nightmares. Or it could be that for some reason there’s a small part of Jimin that still remembers Yoongi and that is binding him here.

It’s torture if Yoongi is honest.

Even when they were together and alive Yoongi had always needed his time alone. As a ghost it was easier. He could just slip out of the house through the wall or the floor and take an independent breath before returning to Jimin’s side. But now he’s forced to be with him twenty four seven.

These days Jimin bustles around like some sort of category five hurricane, one minute here helping Seokjin cooking dinner, the next at the practice room with Hoseok going through moves. It’s exhausting and as a ghost Yoongi shouldn’t even have the right to complain, but well, it is.

Stay or go, Yoongi wants a proper conclusion. Not this half-assed stuck-in-the-middle sort of ending. The only problem is that he doesn’t know how to get out of it. It’s not like he can actually tell Jimin and work things out.

Yoongi puts a hand to the divide and a sigh catches in his chest. He closes his eyes – the most privacy he gets these days – and tries to tune out the voices.

_Jimin_ , he wants to whisper into skin and lips, but he can’t, so he makes do with pressing his forehead to space above Jimin’s shoulder and mouthing the words into thin air.

*

_Jimin_ , he hears, a voice tired and soft.

Jimin turns, eyes wide and alert.

“Is something wrong Jimin?” Seokjin asks, looking over from where he’s washing up his dirty cup.

Jimin pauses, because well, what is he supposed to say? That he’s hearing things. That someone, somebody, some _thing_  is saying his name over and over again. He’d sound crazy.

Maybe at this rate he is.

“It’s nothing hyung,” he says quietly and pads over with his empty cup as well. Seokjin takes it despite Jimin’s protests and washes it up for him.

“You should go to sleep,” Seokjin says. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Jimin nods mutely.

Behind him Hoseok is shifting the chair back to the living room and turning off the lights. Jimin stands there awkwardly as Seokjin dries his hand on the kitchen towel. Seokjin turns, surprised to still see Jimin there.

“What?” he asks, seeing that something is clearly bugging Jimin.

“I…” Jimin’s hands twist into his shirt.

“You can ask me anything,” Seokjin says softly and Jimin bends.

“I…can I go visit the apartment tomorrow?” he asks in rush blurred of words.

Seokjin freezes.

It is Hoseok who comes up from behind Jimin and clasps a supportive hand to his shoulder. “Why not,” he says, eyes challenging Seokjin to say anything different.

“Hoseok!” Seokjin says in a strangled voice.

“We can’t shelter him like this forever,” Hoseok says, voice firm and unyielding and Jimin feels like he’s caught between thunder and lightning, one threating with sound and the other with sight. “He has every right to go see the apartment. It was half his anyway.”

Coming from the person who used to co-own it with Yoongi, this means a lot.

Seokjin sighs and folds in on himself. “Fine,” he says. “Tomorrow you can go.”

Jimin steps forwards to give Seokjin a huge hug. “Thanks hyung,” he says into Seokjin’s chest, and the elder pats him resignedly on the back.

“Of course Jimin,” he says and Hoseok bear hugs them both from behind. “We’d do anything for you.”

It’s not a lie.

*

Hoseok is the one who takes him to the apartment. He’s the one who types in the keycode that Jimin doesn’t remember and opens the door to a place that Jimin can’t recall. Inside is dark and dusty. No one has been here in over a month.

Hoseok turns on the lights, and slowly the room is illuminated. Jimin’s eyes take in everything greedily: the tiny kitchenette with a pot still on the stove, the queen sized bed and its rumpled sheets, the scattering of papers and clothes all over the floor.

Jimin can pick out the stuff that belongs to him with ease. There’s a snapback perched on the edge of a chair, a printed tank top with long slits in the side, his favorite snacks in a drawer in the kitchen, some old school work from the University he dropped out of.

And then there are the other things that are distinctly not his. Thick notebooks with their spines cracked, a scattering of pens thoroughly chewed on, a calendar filled with an unfamiliar handwriting, a slim laptop with stickers on the back.

Jimin stumbles into the room, his hand brushing over the top of the mattress, thrown askew from when he must have last slept in it. He imagines it would have been a tight squeeze for two bodies.

He walks away from the bed, eyes straying over to the wide window. Beige curtains are draped over right now, and Jimin grips the fabric and jerks it aside. Light floods in through large panes and Jimin places a hand to the window. It’s got a beautiful view of the world outside, a little bit of skyscrapers and white skies lining the skyline, green grass and a glimpse of a river below it. 

“Yoongi said he liked the view whenever he had a creative block,” Hoseok says distantly, looking out the window as well. “When he got stuck in a rut he would go outside for a walk. Sometime he wouldn’t come back till past two am and I’d worry, but Yoongi was always so independent…”

There are words there that Jimin can sense Hoseok wants to say, but doesn’t. It alludes to the part of Hoseok that Jimin has never really known, the shadowy, sadder closet where Hoseok does not smile, does not laugh, does not grin.

Jimin has only ever known Hoseok through Yoongi, and with his evident loss of memories about Yoongi, the only Hoseok he knows is from the past two months of living in his house.

What he does know is that Hoseok and Yoongi are childhood friends. They grew up together and then they bought this house together when they first moved to Seoul. And somewhere along the way Hoseok chose to leave.

Hoseok breaks his gaze from outside the window and walks over to the kitchen. He busies himself with opening the fridge and checking the state of the food in there. Jimin sees his nose wrinkle and he guesses there must be some expired food in there.

A rustling of bags and then Hoseok calls out to him, “I’m just going to go throw away the trash, okay?”

Jimin nods and the door shuts soundly.

Jimin is left alone in this foreign room of dust and memories. He wanders over to the table scattered with scribbled lyrics. He lifts one of them and skims the words there. The handwriting is frantic, like words had been spilling over and Yoongi had desperately been trying to capture them all down in ink and lines.

_Life isn’t about living along but living through._

Another sheet behind it, dog tagged and folded over. The words double underlined in red.

_This isn’t a stop but just a pause in your life for a break. Turn up your thumbs and press play so everyone can see._

The words don’t seem to have any conjoining link. They’re just random thought dotted down, some highlighted that Yoongi must have particularly liked, one underlined thickly with a black felt tip.

One particularly phrase is encircled thickly.

_Follow your dreams, Even if it breaks you down._

There are two words to one side, an arrow from it pointing to the circle.  _For Jimin_ , it says in soft, careful writing, quite unlike the harsh jilts of the pen and the sharp angles of the characters. Jimin’s heart thumps and suddenly his chest feels like all the air has been sucked out of it and he is surviving on vacuum.

A flash of a memory. Something being handed to him. Insane happiness bursting like fireworks, again and again and again.

_It’s your song._

Jimin’s hand flies to the necklace hanging low at his collarbones. Thick black cord and a stone pendant.

The USB. Where is it?

Jimin throws the sheets down to one side, rifles through the mess on the table. Pens clatter to the floor and the chair is pushed to one side. Where is it? Where did he put it? Surely he can’t have left it back at the…the Han River?

Wait. What?

Han River? Why would it ever be there? On the night he fainted…?

Jimin is frozen, one hand to the table and supporting him up, the other to his head as memories assuage him. He clearly remembers that deep ripple of a voice, the weight of the USB in his hand, the rush of the river and the sparkle of light above.

His hand moves to the drawer before he can even think, and he yanks it open. There, nestled deep within sheets of blank paper and stationery is the USB.  

Jimin picks it up with a trembling hand.

The door beeps and opens. Hoseok enters and stares at the object in his hand.

“Did Yoongi give that to you?” he asks in a thin voice.

Jimin gives a tiny jerky nod. “I think so…” he says.

“Do you want to look at what’s in it?” Hoseok asks. There’s a laptop on the table – Yoongi’s it must be – though it’ll probably need charging and Jimin has no idea where the cable is. But more than those feeble excuses, does Jimin really want to listen to it?

Hoseok sees the indecision on his face. “You don’t have to if you don’t want. Take your time.”

Jimin swallows and nods gratefully.

“You can use my laptop at home if you want to have a look later,” Hoseok offers and Jimin nods quickly. He tucks the USB into his pocket carefully, treating it like gold.

It burns like fire, a brand imprinting itself into his thigh all the way back to Seokjin and Hoseok’s house.

*

The apartment looks exactly as it did when Yoongi last saw it on New Year’s Day, messy, cluttered, his lyric papers all over the table. He had finished the song two days prior and had been trying to churn out lyrics but inspiration had been zero and all he had been able to scratch out were a few lines and ideas.

In the end he had made do with just a title.

The USB had been an old thing at the back of his drawer, and Yoongi had deleted all the old files off it and transferred over the instrumental, testing and making sure the files were correct and everything.

Shutting down the computer had felt like an ultimatum. I am never coming back. I will never touch these keys again. I will never make music again.

The last is for Jimin.

But here Yoongi is now, running his hands over the lid of his laptop. Or at least brushing the space above it. Honestly this whole ghosthood thing is a headache.

Yoongi watches idly as Jimin searches the room, looking like a blind man discovering an entirely new world. The bed is an ocean, the window a portal to a new world. Hoseok touches the window and stares out it and Yoongi know he is thinking of his sister.

Jimin is shuffling through his lyric book – something that at any other time Yoongi would never allow – and he mouths out certain phrases that stand out. His fingers smoothen over the pages, running over the sharp indents where Yoongi had pressed too deeply in with a pen, sometimes even ripping through the sheets.

And then Jimin mouths the words. The title. The USB. Pages go flying and Yoongi knows he remembers it. Yoongi can see it in his eyes, the conflict of the realization colliding headfirst with the confusion of where the memory comes from.

_In the drawer,_ Yoongi thinks, unable to help any further.  _In the table drawer._ He wills Jimin to somehow hear. .

Somehow realization strikes him like hot gold and Jimin’s hands lock around the drawer and he tugs at it, the wooden thing heavy and stiff, but then it gives way and inside its belly is the treasure.

Jimin doesn’t choose to listen to it right there and then which somewhat disappoints Yoongi, but he tries to be understanding.

It’s just… it’s just he’s frustrated.

Yes he doesn’t want to leave Jimin. Yes this is amazing that he can still be here and still watch over him. But it’s so frustrating to not be able to talk to him, speak to him, smile at him and get back that brilliant blaze of a smile in return.

Yoongi doesn’t love Jimin just for his looks. He loves him for his responses and he is getting none of them the way he is.

*

Hoseok and Seokjin are out and Jimin is sprawled on his bed, the USB burning hot in his hand. The afternoon sun is setting and it filters through the window a soft orange.

His fingers clasp around the USB and then unclasp. What is wrong with him? Why is he so scared of this tiny object? It’s just music. It’s just a song. It’s just…the only piece of Yoongi that he really has left. Hoseok has even left his laptop on the table for him to use if he so wishes. He has nothing really stopping himself except for himself and his pitiful excuses.

There’s a knock on his door.

Jimin rolls off, croaking out a  _yeah?_  just in time to see Jungkook open the door.  

“Hey hyung,” is his quiet greeting.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook takes a step into the room, closing the door behind him. There’s not exactly anywhere Jungkook can sit down on so he stands awkwardly, one hand pressed to the door behind him like it’s his safety escape plan.

“Did one of the hyungs let you in?” Jimin asks, by way of broaching the uncomfortable silence.

Jungkook nods. “Hoseok gave me his keys. I uh, I told him I wanted to tell you something.”

Jimin perks up. “Yeah? And that is?”

Jungkook looks startled. His fingers twist with the hem of his knitted sweater. “I…” he begins with a dragging voice. “I…” 

“Yes?” Jimin says encouragingly.

“It’s about Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook blurts out, and Jimin tenses up all over, his fingers gripping the USB so hard that it hurts.

“W-what…about him?” Jimin stutters, his turn to be nervous.

Jungkook chews at his lower lip, trying to find the words. “The hyungs…” he starts, “they haven’t told you the whole story.”

Jimin stills. “What else is there to say?” he asks slowly, because everything they’ve told him seems plausible. There’s no missing gap, no lost jigsaw puzzle piece.

“Your memories,” Jungkook says quietly, and Jimin freezes. “They lied to you when they said it was selective amnesia. It’s not.”

“Then what is it?” Jimin asks, half fearful of the answer.

Jungkook gazes at him unwaveringly. It scared Jimin with his seriousness. “It may be hard to believe hyung…but…”

Jimin licks dry lips. Clenches tight fingers even tighter. “But what?” he whispers.

“You didn’t lose your memories,” Jungkook says. “You got your memories wiped.”

Jimin’s mouth goes dry, desert sand swirling and he has difficulty articulating his words. “What…do you mean Jungkook?” he manages in a hoarse tone.

Jungkook swallows, equally nervous. “Your memories,” he repeats. “They were wiped. You didn’t lose them from the shock of Yoongi-hyung dying; you lost them because they got erased.”

“By who?” Jimin demands, leaning half off the bed, halfway to grabbing Jungkook and shaking the answers right out of him.

Jungkook stiffens at the door, his fingers clutching deep into the woodwork, half looking like he wants to bolt.

But he can’t. He  _can’t!_  Jimin needs to know the answer. “Who wiped my memories Jungkook?” he says in a deep, authoritative tone.

Jungkook flinches but doesn’t run. “Yoongi-hyung,” he whispers in such a small voice that Jimin almost thinks he’s hearing things at first. But then Jungkook licks his lips and says it again, voice clearer and louder. “Yoongi-hyung did.”

Jimin gapes at him and sinks backs down onto the bed, feeling like candle has been extinguished in his heart.

Jungkook looks like he’s regretting everything.

“Don’t go,” Jimin says, startling Jungkook. “Tell me more.”

Jungkook’s eyes shift back and forwards and his lips press close together. “Seokjin-hyung will be so mad at me,” he confesses.

“That’s okay. I want to know. I won’t tell him,” Jimin says. “So please Jungkook.”

Jungkook exhales takes a step forwards, squeezing himself onto Jimin’s tiny bed like this is a secret that can only be spoken with lips centimeters apart. Jimin shuffles back to make room for him, but even then their knees knock and clash. Outside the sun is setting and the room is dark. The shadows stretch over Jungkook’s face, making him look uncertain and divided.

 “Please tell me the truth Jungkook,” Jimin whispers, hands curling and uncurling around the USB. Jimin can see Jungkook’s eyes flicker to the object, eyes widening and sharpening as he recognizes it.

“Okay,” Jungkook says softly and leans forwards. Jimin mirrors him unconsciously, and then Jungkook open his mouth and slowly he retells a ghostly little story.

*

The sun has long set and Jimin is laid spread eagled on his bed, the USB in his hand. His eyes are open and fixed on the ceiling, his breaths even as he recalls the story Jungkook has told him in his head again and again.

Seokjin knocks on his door at around eight, inquiring about dinner. Jimin waves him off with words that he’s not hungry and just wants to think. It makes Seokjin frown but Hoseok pulls him away, giving Jimin a stern nod that says this will only work for one night.

The door closes behind Hoseok and Seokjin’s flailing limb and Jimin rolls over, hoodie tugged up, and he stares at the wall and the USB in his hand and knows he cannot stall for much longer.  

*

Yoongi watches Jimin roll around his bed again and again, deep sighs uttered every now and then.

Jimin knows the truth now.

Yoongi may have disliked Jungkook for walking through him that wintry day, but he’s redeemed himself now.

Only…Jimin has been told the entire story from at least three people now, but it hasn’t seemed to have triggered any of his own memories. He has a photo, a USB, and a grave. What more does he need?

Maybe Yoongi did wipe his memories for good. To the point of no return.

Jimin sighs again and Yoongi instinctively reaches over to ruffle his head, forgetting that he can’t touch Jimin until his fingers connect with the divide and spark.

Jimin twitches.

Yoongi’s hand freezes above Jimin’s head. He touch has never elicited a response from Jimin before, but…was that just a coincidence?

He reaches out again, his fingertips coming in contact with the microscopic divide and Jimin jerks again. Now that’s no coincidence.

_Jimin_ , Yoongi tries to say.  _Can you hear me? Can you feel me?_

Jimin’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open fractionally, his tongue running along his lower lip nervously.

_Jimin?_  Yoongi tries again.

“I-is that you Yoongi?” Jimin whispers, a tiny crack of a thing.

Yoongi jumps to his feet.  _Yes. It’s me. Can you hear me? Can you understand what I’m saying?_

Jimin frowns now. His hands curl up to his ear and rubs at them. “It just sounds like static…” he says softly, disappointment clear. “Are you really there hyung?”

The USB slips out of his grasp and tumbles onto the sheets. For a second both Yoongi and Jimin stare at the tiny object and both of them wonder.

Then Jimin is up and opening Hoseok’s computer. Sliding in the USB and clicking open the file. He stares at the singular mp3 document there and his hand trembles over the touchpad.

_Listen to it_ , Yoongi begs. Maybe it is the last piece of the puzzle. They have to try. They’re so close.

But Jimin doesn’t. Instead he grabs his phone and connects it to the laptop. A few clicks and then he disconnects everything and shuts down Hoseok’s computer. He rolls out of the chair and slips on a hoodie, hat, tucks his phone and a wallet and a small slip of paper into his pocket, and then he’s out the door, and Yoongi, wide-eyed and confused, but he has no choice but to follow and see what happens next.

*

The house is completely dark by the time Jimin peeps his head out of his room.

Seokjin and Hoseok must have gone to bed long ago so Jimin scrawls them a hasty note and leaves it where he’s certain they will see it in the morning.  

He’s lucky enough to hail a stray cab just outside and he slides in, taking out the piece of paper and reciting off the address written there. The taxi driver gives him a curious look, surprised that anyone would go visit such a place at such a time, but he’s being paid extra for after midnight trips so he just keeps his eyes on the road and his foot on the pedal.

*

Yoongi watches as Jimin enters the cab, far too quick for him to slip in with him. Instead Yoongi closes his eyes and waits for the gut-wrenching sensation as he is tugged along behind Jimin, his body flickering and teleporting every few meters.

When the feeling finally stops, Yoongi opens his eyes with a soundless groan and looks up to see a monstrous number of stairs.

Jimin is up ahead, plowing up the first few steps with determination painted on his face.

Behind him the taxi lights fade away and in front of him awaits Yoongi’s grave.

*

Jimin pauses to catch his breath as he finally arrives in front of Yoongi’s grave. The night is chilly and Jimin shivers slightly in his jacket. He’s just grateful that the ground is dry as he kneels forwards to stroke the grave with one hand.

“Hey hyung,” he says breathlessly. “I’m sorry it’s so late, but well, you’re probably not sleeping, and I…I really wanted to talk to you. I don’t know if you’re actually here right now, but I figured if you were anywhere you’d be here.”

Yoongi watches him, a smile creeping up on his face. If only Jimin knew he’s been by his side since the day he’s died.

Jimin sinks down into a cross legged position. “So um hyung,” he says, voice loud and clear in the empty graveyard. The sky is dark but Jimin pulls out his phone and it lights up their tiny space. “So everyone told me things…and I think I know the truth now.”

Yoongi walks over to his grave, one hand caressing the cold stone. It’s a nice grave; he’ll have to give his parents props for that. They may have always been rather cold to him when he came out to them about two things: his sexual orientation and his dreams, but at the end of the day they are still his parents and this is proof.  

“Hoseok hyung said we met on a basketball court. Apparently you whopped my ass, triple the score.”

Yoongi snorts. He remembers that day clearly. Jimin had made a face as he lost to Yoongi’s team, his lips downturned and his sadness palpable, and it had been such a kicked-puppy-when-it’s-down kind of sad that Yoongi couldn’t help but cross the court to hold out one hand and say,  _good game_. It had been the right move because instantly Jimin had sparked back into life, head perking up and eyes brightening. 

“It took you three weeks before you agreed to go out on a date with me,” Jimin says, a smile painted on his face as well, reliving own memories from the mouth of another.

Yes it had. Yoongi had refused to want to believe he was slowly becoming attracted to this pint sized loudmouth, but he had, and eventually he had given in. Their first date had been a disaster, the restaurant had been terrible and it had rained on their way home and once again Jimin’s sadness had been clear as day. So Yoongi had taken him by the hand and dragged him to his home, Hoseok having long moved out, and he had pushed Jimin into the shower and given him clean clothes. Then when both of them were dry he had cooked instant noodles and they had sat in front of the TV and watched whatever cheesy movie had been on then until both of them had fallen asleep, heads resting atop one another. They’d woken up late the next morning, limbs stiff and mouths still tasting of MSG, but they had looked at each other blearily and blinked and then laughed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jimin won’t know those details since their first date was a secret Yoongi had always kept to himself. It had somehow felt too private to tell others. Of how easily he had fallen into step with Park Jimin, like it was meant to be or something.

Their others dates Jimin knows fragments of. The dance showcase where Yoongi had first introduced Hoseok and Jimin to one another. Yoongi still remembers the bright eyes as Jimin had watches Hoseok claim the stage, the lights and the shadows all coming together in one brilliant light play. Yoongi had been so proud of Hoseok that night, all traces of sadness erased under the bright spotlights of the stage.

Then there’s the time when Hoseok had in turn introduced Seokjin to both Jimin and Yoongi, and how Yoongi had seen the sadness in the lines of Seokjin’s eyes, in the weight upon his shoulders. Jimin hadn’t seen it and Yoongi had done his best to hide it from the younger boy over that night.

They sit there for what feels like the entire night but is probably only a few hours, Jimin telling Yoongi’s grave the stories that he has been told from different people and Yoongi with his eyes wide open to read his lips, reliving each moment in his mind.

Time transits from their first meeting to Yoongi’s death and the cold winter that had followed. Taehyung had told Jimin about when he first met Yoongi, unable to see him but somehow accepting that this Min Yoongi – invisible ghost extraordinaire – actually existed. Yoongi snorts as he remembers that, Kim Taehyung, weirdo extraordinaire. Some things will never change.

Jungkook had later told Jimin about the darker times that no one had wanted to say. Of how Yoongi and Jimin had been at odds for a while, unable to sustain their relationship between the living and the dead. How it had crashed and cumulated and ended up with that wintry New Year’s Eve night.

The first crack of light is splintering through the sky as Jimin winds to an end. Yoongi is sitting on the ground, his back to his grave, his eyes to Jimin.

Jimin surprises Yoongi by taking out a pair of earphones and his phone. Yoongi watches as he thumbs through pages and then comes up to his music player. And  _oh_ , Yoongi gets it now.

This is a ritual, more for Jimin than anything else. Getting his memories in order before he tries to remember it all himself.

Jimin puts in the buds and his finger hovers over the play button.

Yoongi gets up and walks over, dropping down next to Jimin, and his fingers comes down over Jimin’s.  _Play it Jimin_ , he whispers close to his cheek and pushes down over Jimin’s finger. He doesn’t exert pressure, but Jimin does it anyway, pressing down and pressing play.

Yoongi leans over as close, his ear right up against the divide next to Jimin’s ear and he closes his eyes and tries to make out the song that plays through, faint but just about audible. It triggers his memories, and Yoongi remembers how the rest of it goes, rather than hearing he tinny sound through the earphones.

The song is rough and deep, heavy thuds and skids constant through. But there are moments of piano and guitar which add soul to the otherwise gritty sound. Jimin sits there with his eyes closed and head tipped back, letting the sound flood his entire system. He lets darkness invade and the beats control his heart rate and he imagines Yoongi as he saw in the little arcade photo, his hair brown and tousled and messy as he sits at a computer and puts together the layers of this song.

And slowly, that image doesn’t become a forced act. Yoongi’s face, Yoongi’s hands, Yoongi’s body, slowly it seeps back and Jimin finds himself thinking  _Yoongi_ , and then seeing him imprinted on the back of his lids.

The song crawls to a finish and Jimin’s phone lights up in response. He looks down to see the title,  _Tomorrow.mp3_  scrawling across the white screen.

Jimin turns his head to his right and his eyes are moist. “Thank you hyung,” he whispers and Yoongi realizes he is staring right at him.

_Can you… see me?_  Yoongi can’t help but whisper with disbelief.

 “I see you,” Jimin whispers and gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. “Your hair is black and your eyes look exactly as I remember them. You look like you don’t believe me.”

_You… remember me?_ Yoongi can’t help but ask.

“I do,” Jimin says. His fingers slide down Yoongi’s cheek, never actually touching, but just skimming over the surface. It’s good enough. His memories will fill in the rest, of the way Yoongi’s skin feels beneath his calloused fingertips, of the way Yoongi will sound when he inhales just that little bit too sharply. Jimin won’t dare to touch Yoongi just yet. It feels like an ultimatum, that if he does, either he’ll be able to sink his fingers in there and everything is as he remembers, or maybe his fingers will go right through and Yoongi will splinter into a thousand shards of light.

So he makes do with his hands hovering right over Yoongi, and with the whisper of, “I really, really remember you.”

Yoongi swallows and his hand comes up.  Jimin may be okay with just this, but he is not.

His hand folds over Jimin’s and he  _pushes_  and the divide is still there, resisting, but as he presses in deep it wavers and Yoongi can almost feel the warmth of Jimin’s hand underneath his. Jimin’s breath stutters and Yoongi knows he can feel it as well.

“What happened hyung?” Jimin asks, eyes round and fixed onto Yoongi. “Why are you still here?”

_I don’t know_ , Yoongi mouths back, despair building as the resistance of the divide grows and his hand is pushed back. He’s so close. So close to touching Jimin.

“Shh hyung,” Jimin says soothingly. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”

Yoongi leans forwards, his forehead pressed to the divide above Jimin’s shoulder and his shoulder shake. He’s so tired. He’s so frustrated. But finally,  _finally_ , Jimin can see him. Understand him. He feels like he’s come in a full circle and they are back at point zero.

But this is a start. And this time there’ll both try to make it work.  

*

Hoseok finds Jimin asleep in front of Yoongi’s grave, his phone in his lap looping a song again and again, the sound emitting through the earbuds that dangle over Jimin’s chest.

Hoseok claps his hands and sends a quick prayer to Yoongi. Then he kneels and gently shakes Jimin awake.

“Hey there,” he says softly as Jimin jerks into wakefulness. “You really shouldn’t have left the house like that.”

Jimin rubs as his eyes and coughs to clear his throat. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “I just really needed to come see the grave and-“

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hoseok says reassuringly, cutting off Jimin’s stumbling excuses. “I get it. Seokjin probably won’t though which is why I came to pick you up. Ready to go home?”

Jimin turns his head to his right and looks down at apparently nothing. Hoseok watches as he hesitates and then looks back up at Hoseok.

“What?” Hoseok asks, blinking down at the empty space.

Jimin bites his lower lip and says, “I think you should know that Yoongi-hyung is here.”

Hoseok eyes widen and his mouth drops open. “What?” he exclaims, a little too loudly for a graveyard. He clasps his hands over his mouth and then his eyes narrow. “What do you mean he’s here?”

Jimin licks his lips. “Like, um, apparently he couldn’t move on.”

“Where is he?” Hoseok demands, looking around, not that he’ll be able to see him anyway.

“Here,” Jimin says and points to his right.

Hoseok reaches out with one trembling hand.  His bottom lip shakes and then he retracts it, as if thinking it the better judgment. Yoongi watches him with quiet sadness.

“Hey hyung,” Hoseok says in a shaking voice and tries to smile. Yoongi reaches out with a hand of his own and lets it hover above Hoseok’s shoulder. He hates it when Hoseok tries to smile like this because it’s never sincere. It’s always a smile to hide the shadows underneath.

_Please don’t,_  he would say if he could.  _It’s okay to not smile all the time. It’s okay to be sad._

“Why are you still here hyung?” Hoseok whispers in a cracking voice and Yoongi’s heart fragments.  

Jimin glances at Yoongi, then back at Hoseok. “We think that there must have been a part of my subconscious that could still remember Yoongi-hyung, and it held him back.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen with surprise. “You mean Yoongi didn’t wipe your mind properly.”

Jimin nods. “But I remember him now,” he says softly, affectionately. “I can remember everything.” His fingers fold over the fabric of his jacket, just below his breastbone, as if his memories are a tangible thing and he is trying to hold them close.

Hoseok rocks back on his heel and inhales, exhales, thinking as he always does in measured breaths. “Jimin,” he says slowly. “While we’re here, can I show you something?”

Jimin tilts his head, curious, but nods.

“This way,” Hoseok says and gets to his feet. Jimin looks to Yoongi, confused, but Yoongi just gestures for him to follow. Yoongi’s expression is grave and Jimin wonders what it is that Hoseok wants to show him in the place of the dead and buried.

They don’t go far. Just down a flight of stairs and somewhat to the left of the graveyard. The sun is rising faintly in the distance and the air is misty and heavy.

Hoseok comes to a stop in front of a grave of granite stone.

“Whose grave is this?” Jimin asks, but Hoseok just holds out a hand, inviting Jimin to take a closer look. Jimin looks at Yoongi, but Yoongi just shakes his head and mouths at him to do as he’s told.

Jimin kneels and carefully leans forwards. It feels a little strange to be touching some stranger’s grave, but then as he leans in close and reads the characters there, his eyes widen and his breath catches and he understands why.

_Jung Hana_ , it reads in bold beautiful characters of thick black.

Jung.

Jimin looks up at Hoseok, the words on the tip of his tongue where they balance and stop and refuse to come out.

Hoseok offers an answer. “She was my little sister,” he says softly, a little too softly, and Jimin feels his heart thud, a thousand times too loud. “She was only a year younger than I was.”

Hoseok kneels and clasps his hands in a little prayer. Jimin follows suit out of respect, but inside he can’t help but feel horrified. Out of everyone in their little group Hoseok is the last person Jimin would have expected to have been touched by death.

“We buried her here because my parents wanted her to be closer to her dreams,” Hoseok says, eyes still closed, hands still in prayer. “She wanted to be a dancer. She wanted to attend an art university. She had it all planned out: which school she was going to attend, her application form, she even moved into our flat for exam period and everything and then…” Hoseok voice hitches. “and then she got sick and we thought she was going to get better, that sure she’d have to wait a year or so, but she’d improve and she’d get in and she would so goddamn amazing on the stage.” Hoseok voice peters out, like he has lost the steam behind it.

Jimin looks up to see Yoongi walk forwards. He kneels to the side of the grave and presses one hand to the granite there. His eyes are closed and his mouth downturned and Jimin has never seen Yoongi look so forlorn before.

Hoseok looks to Jimin, noticing the distracted look in his eyes. “Yoongi used to date my sister,” he says by way of explanation and it drives a stake into Jimin’s chest.

He chokes and Hoseok tries to explain.

“I told you right, we grew up together. It was the three of us in that little backwater town, and we all thought we’d come to Seoul and make it big off music. When she died… guess she was the catalyst for our friendship growing apart. I couldn’t stand being in the same room where she had been  _so alive in_  and so I moved out. Yoongi-hyung couldn’t stand leaving the one place where he could remember her the most and so he stayed.”

Jimin’s mouth dries as he looks first to the pity in Hoseok’s eyes, and then to Yoongi, kneeling. He has never imagined such a past.

“Yoongi hyung knows what it’s like to lose someone to death,” Hoseok says. “I guess that night when he died, he just never wanted to go through such a thing again.”

Jimin can’t tear his eyes away from Yoongi and the bangs that cover his eyes. So what? he wants to demand out of Yoongi. So you wanted me to go through it instead?

It’s selfish and it’s horrible but Jimin hates the pain that wracks his body, the desperation to feel Yoongi beneath his fingers and the despair in his veins that just wishes none of this had ever happened and that Yoongi was still alive.

Or better yet, that they had never met.

This kind of non-physical pain is so torturous that Jimin wants to rip apart all those memories again.

Yoongi jerks towards him, eyes wide with surprise as if he can feel the rage that runs through Jimin’s bloodstream.

_Do you regret us?_  he mouths, eyebrows dipping down.

Jimin’s breath catches, his mouth parted, and he just doesn’t know how to answer. Does he regret Yoongi?

_I never regretted her,_  Yoongi says, his hand still stroking Hana’s grave. He looks to Jimin.  _And I have never regretted you._

It swells in his chest, expanding and expanding like a balloon until Jimin thinks he’ll burst. It’s a lie. A lie that he wishes he’d never met Yoongi, because in the end Yoongi has given him so much more than he has taken. And Jimin wishes in his heart of all hearts that he could have Yoongi back but at the same time he knows that will never happen, and now they are at a deadend. Yoongi is stuck in the past, and Jimin is free to move on.

What happens from hereon now is up to him.

Jimin reaches out to Yoongi, and Yoongi meets him halfway. They hands don’t quite touch and Jimin thinks that Yoongi might have partially gone right through him, but that’s okay. He can feel something akin to Yoongi’s warmth and he knows that rather than living in that strange uncertainty of ignorance but not quite bliss he’d rather be here, cold and crying and hurt.

Yoongi sighs into his embrace and above them the sun begins to rise.

*

Jimin and Hoseok get back at around 9am to Seokjin pacing in the kitchen.

“Where have you been?” he demands, striding towards them with a face like lightning when he hears the front door close.

“I’m sorry hyung,” Jimin says and wraps his arms around Seokjin, burying his face into Seokjin’s chest. It makes Seokjin pause in whatever angry spiel he was going to give and he looks over Jimin to give a questioning gaze to Hoseok.

“We went to the graveyard,” Hoseok explains in a quiet voice. “And I showed Jimin my sister’s grave.”

Seokjin’s eyes widen fractionally and he looks down at Jimin’s mussed hair.

“Jimin remembers,” Hoseok continues, dropping his keys into the bowl on the table and kicking off his shoes. He doesn’t bother with putting them onto the rack properly and Seokjin doesn’t bother reprimanding him.

“Everything?” Seokjin whispers in a crack.

Jimin nods into his chest. “Everything,” he says in a muffled voice.

Seokjin sighs, his shoulders slumping. “I see,” he says.

“And hyung,” Jimin says, pulling away slightly and looking up at him with round, glassy eyes. “Yoongi hyung is still here as well.”

Seokjin’s mouth drops open. “He didn’t move on?” he whispers, his worst fears confirmed.

Jimin shakes his head and Seokjin closes his eyes and wonders why nothing can go right.

*

“What about Namjoon?” is the first thing Seokjin asks Yoongi when they are all seated in the kitchen, warming up as the birds begin to chatter noisily and the outside world kicks into action.

Yoongi shakes his head, looks at Jimin and gets him to translate.

“Hyung says he hasn’t seen Namjoon-hyung ever since New Year’s. He thinks he managed to move on because you were willing to let him go, but I guess…I wasn’t.”

Seokjins relaxes slightly but his fingers are still tight around his cup. “Okay,” he says and takes a sip of tea, fragrant and soothing. “So what about you Yoongi,” he then says.

“What about Yoongi?” Jimin asks, perhaps a little too sharply.

Seokjin affixes him a level gaze. “How are we going to get Yoongi to move on properly this time,” he clarifies and Jimin’s eyes flare. Seokjin holds up a hand before Jimin can get an angry word in. “You know he needs to move on,” he says. “It’s only right.”

Jimin deflates because he knows it now as well. He doesn’t like it, but he’s seen Yoongi’s expression of pain and frustration at his lack of freedom. He wants Yoongi around forever but there is no such thing as forever.

“Do you have any ideas hyung?” Jimin asks Yoongi who is sitting on the arm of his chair, hands idly running over the kitchen counter top.

Yoongi looks to him and shakes his head.  _I don’t know. Namjoon’s theory was that if you, the person who is binding me here is willing to let me go then I should just go. It seemed to work for Namjoon once Seokjin’s worries were alleviated, so I guess if we can reassure your problems then maybe I can move on._

His eyes grow faint at the last words, as if he’s already looking into the next world.

Jimin bites back his hatred and then it sort of strikes him. He doesn’t want to let Yoongi go, and it’s as simple as that. Seokjin wanted to let Namjoon go but was worried for what awaited him in the next world. In their case Jimin is just being selfish. It simmers guiltily in his chest and Jimin feels his face flush.

“You have an idea?” Hoseok prompts him, still sounding just that little bit hollow and tired. Visiting his sister and the memories must have taken a greater toll on him that Jimin first realized. This isn’t the usual Hoseok he knows and it’s slightly unnerving.

But this is about Yoongi and not Hoseok, so Jimin shakes his head and resolves to help Hoseok another time. “I think it’s me,” Jimin confesses, feeling incredibly guilty as he does so. “I think I just don’t want to let Yoongi-hyung go. Like, I know I should, but I don’t want to and…” he trails off as he realizes just how petulant – how childish – he sounds.

Seokjin doesn’t seem to think so. “It’s natural,” he says, eyes soft. “And Yoongi was your first real relationship. Of course you wouldn’t want to let him go.”

“But I have to,” Jimin says and he hates how his voice sounds close to tears. “My head knows that but my heart doesn’t seem to want to comply. What should I do hyung?” he asks, all but begging.

Hoseok and Seokjin look back at him, eyes sympathetic and mugs steaming. To be honest they have no idea either.

Broken hearts aren’t exactly fixed with just glue and tape.

*

Over the next week or so they try to come up with ideas.

Seokjin googles up on how to accept death and a loved one’s passing on, Hoseok tries to talk things through with Jimin to see if he can come to a conclusion on his own, and Jungkook pops in now and then, not really to say anything but to offer random ideas that sound like they could work until they sit down and think it through a hole or two appear. 

Then, one day it’s Taehyung who suggests a farewell party.

“I mean, it’s like when you send someone off to university or another country, or when they’re moving house. It’s sad, but you make it fun and it makes the parting bearable.”

Jimin blinks from where he’s lying on his belly on their couch, at Jungkook and Taehyung’s for dinner, Jungkook having wanted to apologize for telling him everything and causing him all this heartache. Jimin had frowned at that, because it wasn’t really something he needed to apologize for, but then Taehyung had grabbed his arm and dragged him home anyway.

Yoongi looks at him and considers it.  _It could work_ , he says to Jimin.  _Why not give it a try._

So they do.

They plan it all out, a picnic with food and drinks and a blanket. Taehyung gets inordinately excited to the point that Jimin thinks this was all just a ploy so that they could have an outdoor event, but then again this is Taehyung and you can never really understand what he’s thinking. Jungkook just rolls his eyes and plans what they need to put in the basket.

Jimin can tell that Seokjin doesn’t think it’ll work, and to be honest Jimin doesn’t think so either, but they’re all putting their efforts into this and it’d be fun to go out, all seven of them for once.

He can tell that Yoongi’s privately excited as well. Despite not really being able to interact with any of the others now unless it’s through Jimin, Yoongi’s gotten pretty attached to the other five. He won’t admit it, but when they’re out food shopping, just the two of them, Yoongi will point to a shelf and remind Jimin to pick up Seokjin’s favorite tea leaves which are running out, or he’ll stop by a window front and muse about how that shirt there matches Taehyung’s current purple hairstyle.

Jimin wonders sometimes that if Yoongi hadn’t died, would Jimin be in the situation he is in now? Would he have ever gotten as close to Seokjin as he is currently, both in the same position of knowing what it is like to lose the one you love, not just once but twice. Or would he have ever realized that Hoseok is more than the exterior smile he flashes around twenty four seven? Would he have even met Taehyung and Jungkook? Ever realized dancing was his true passion and switched courses?

It’s scary to think that Yoongi’s death has triggered this all and in another parallel dimension where Yoongi is still alive and Jimin is hand in hand with him that everything could be so very different. It makes Jimin realize even more than he doesn’t regret what has happened.

It’s sad and he hates it but he doesn’t regret the things he has gained.

Yoongi glances over him and it’s like he can read his mind. He leans down and ruffles Jimin’s hair. It’s not technically a ruffle, because Jimin can’t feel fingers running through his hair, but what he can feel is this strange little forcefield kind of effect. It’s faint and it’s soothing and it flattens down against his head.

Jimin looks up and smiles.

And actually, maybe this farewell party thing will work.

*

They all get together in February and have the picnic in the park that Yoongi’s flat overlooks. Yoongi and Jimin have agreed to move everything out, what with Jimin’s university term starting soon and the rent lease running out.

Yoongi’s asked Jimin to ship back a few things to his parents, tokens for remembrance. The rest is up to Jimin to choose what he wants to do with them.  _Just….keep my lyrics book will you?_   is all Yoongi had asked of him two days ago when they had stood in the dusty apartment and Jimin had broken down exactly what he needed and what he didn’t.

Clothes, books, cutlery, those stuff he’ll keep.

The old Polaroid with all its film used up, the little paper masks they had bought at some festival, the stuffed toy Yoongi had won at a basketball arcade game, they can all go.

Jimin has realized that he doesn’t need these little things around to remember the good times. He can remember them perfectly well himself and when he wants to. Choosing how he grieves over Yoongi is part of the process, or so Hoseok said, citing that that was the reason why he had first taken up dance.

“It reminded me of her, of her smiling and genuinely enjoying herself,” Hoseok had said with a shrug when Jimin had asked him to explain. “Slowly I found myself enjoying dance as well, and her joy became my joy.”

Had it been necessary to move out of the apartment then, Jimin had asked.

“I could just see her everywhere.” Hoseok had then said, his voice a touch lower. “She always liked putting her touch on things. She redecorated the place when she moved in, put those wall stickers up and chose the bedsheets and everything. Staying there was like reliving her daily life. It was like I was forced to remember her all the time, and I didn’t want that. I wanted to remember her when it felt right to, and when it was for the right reasons. Dance did that for me. Living in that apartment didn’t.”

But Yoongi had stayed.

“Yeah,” Hoseok had just nodded. “Yoongi-hyung was the opposite of me. I moved out because I wanted to choose how I remembered her; Yoongi stayed because he wanted to be immersed in her twenty four seven.”

But Yoongi had gotten over her, hadn’t he.

“Time I guess,” Hoseok had shrugged.

Jimin had looked down to where Yoongi had been sitting, leaning against a cupboard with his eyes closed like he was asleep. Of course he wasn’t – he couldn’t be – but this was the closest he got to sleep, and it meant that he couldn’t read their lips and know he was the subject of their conversation.

Time, huh.

Hoseok had paused, pursing his lips thoughtfully. And then he had said. “And you. I think the day he met you was the day he finally starting getting over her death.”

Jimin wonders what it’ll take for him to get over Yoongi’s death.

He had looked over at Yoongi again and been surprised to see him looking right back at him, eyes dark and thoughtful.  _I don’t mind if you fall in love with someone else,_  Yoongi had said, lips barely moving.  _I just want you to be happy._

Happy, huh.

Jimin doesn’t think falling in love will achieve that. Not right away at least. But maybe with time. Maybe. Just maybe.

_Stop dawdling_ , Yoongi says now, a hint of his old acerbic nature there as he rolls his eyes and motions for Jimin to hurry up after the others. The fact that he’s lingering behind means Yoongi has to as well, and it’s making Yoongi impatient.

Jimin blows him a quick apology and then hurries up a beat to where Seokjin and Hoseok are already laying out the blanket. Jungkook puts down the basket, narrowly avoiding dropping it on Taehyung’s face who had thought it apt to throw himself down and start rolling all over it.

“Move it,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eye and kicks at Taehyung’s thigh. Taehyung rolls away complying and Jungkook starts unloading a ridiculous amount of food he’s somehow managed to squash in there.

Jimin kicks off his shoes and arranges them neatly at the side, sitting down and helping Jungkook spread out the food. Seokjin pours drinks and Taehyung swipes them one by one until Hoseok raps him on the forehead to stop. Yoongi sits and laughs soundlessly, leaning in every now and then into Jimin’s side so that Jimin can feel his warmth and that buzz of Yoongi pressing against the divide.

The weather is nice and the sky is blue. The birds are out and Jimin can smell flowers blooming.

It’s nice. This whole thing is pretty nice. It’s like the whole ghost thing never happened and Jimin’s just out on another casual date with Yoongi.

Except that there’s an obnoxiously heavy Taehyung and a snarky Jungkook who are both due to be his roommates soon enough and gods, how is he going to deal with them. He rolls his eyes as he throws Taehyung off his shoulder and Jungkook cackles, prodding him lazily with some long strand of grass. Taehyung bats at it like some overgrown cat and proceeds to eat it, much to Jungkook’s horror.

When the picnic winds down and all they have left are drinks, Hoseok suggests they make a toast. To Yoongi.

Yoongi scowls at that, trying to cover his embarrassment, but he doesn’t look away as Seokjin gets out plastic cups for everyone and pours them all fizzy champagne that he got for the occasion.

“To Yoongi,” Seokjin says, holding his cup up high, and everyone raises their cup and echoes his words. Yoongi watches wordlessly and his hands twitch at his side. When Jimin drinks, the champagne goes down smoothly, with a slight bubble and fizz to the end.

When he puts down the cup and glances at Yoongi, Yoongi is staring into apparent nothingness.

“Hyung?” Jimin says, because it feels like Yoongi is slipping away and he doesn’t want that. Not yet. Not just yet. Can’t he be selfish for just a fraction longer?

Yoongi looks up slowly and his eyes are hazy, distant.  _I’m still here_ , he manages to say, but he looks even more translucent than ever.  _I just…_

Hoseok leans over, catching Jimin’s attention. “For you two,” he says, holding out a packet which Jimin numbly takes. “Good luck.”

Jimin looks down in his hands to see a packet of sparklers. He looks up to see Seokjin packing away the last of their things.

“Try to be home before midnight,” Seokjin says, his voice thick and Jimin realizes what they are all doing.

One by one they depart, and Jimin notices as they go they too are quietly giving their final farewells to Yoongi. Seokjin blinks once towards Yoongi’s direction and whispers a soft “say hi to Namjoon for me.” Hoseok gives a small smile, tight and uncharacteristic of him. Taehyung salutes thin air, and Jungkook gives a formal bow.

And then it’s just the two of them under the darkening Seoul sky.

Jimin sits back on the blanket and its warm enough to not freeze his ass off here. Yoongi stares back curiously and Jimin holds up the sparklers. “Wanna give them a try?”

Yoongi shrugs and so Jimin takes them out and the lighter that Hoseok has managed to remember and lights up the first one.

It glows, bright and golden. Under the dusky sky it’s entrancing, all fiery lights falling like raindrops. New Year’s Eve comes rushing back in all its emotional drenched glory, about a thousand different colors in the sky, red, blue, green, gold. Now there’s only one color but everything feels more concrete, steadier.

Yoongi squats in front of him, his hands playing idly under the dripping fire. An amused smile spreads across face as the sparkler lights go through his hand. And then the first sparkler dies out and Yoongi frowns.

Jimin grabs for another one and lights it. It bursts into life and so does Yoongi’s smile. It’s riveting and Jimin finds himself watching Yoongi’s face more than the lights.

_What?_  Yoongi asks, finally noticing his stare.

“Nothing,” Jimin says, smiling. “You. That’s all.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, embarrassed at Jimin’s straightforwardness. He tilts his head down to look at the golden lights and it’s nice. The silence between the two of them is familiar and friendly and it wraps warm drapes around Jimin’s shoulders.

He hasn’t felt this happy –  _this content_ – in what feels like ages. Like he could close his eyes and not see anything and still feel like Yoongi is at his side. And he opens his eyes and Yoongi isn’t there.

“Yoongi?” Jimin gasps, dropping the sparkler to the floor where it sputters and goes out. “Hyung?”

Then Yoongi appears again in the blink of an eye, looking distinctly disgruntled.  _I’m still here kid. It’s okay._

“Okay,” Jimin says in a rush, his hands shaking as he lights another sparkler and it sends shadows running across the floor. Above them the sky is plunged into full darkness and in the distance there are street lamping lighting up the parkway, but here, under the tree it feels like they are in a world of their own.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers. “I just… it’s scary, imagining you gone.”

Yoongi blinks up at him, warm and understanding.  _I won’t be. Gone I mean. Part of me will always still be here with you, you know that right? Even if you can see me or hear me or feel me, you know that I’ll always be watching over you, making sure you don’t trip over your own two feet or something._

Jimin laughs at that.

Yoongi stands up, straightening his legs and Jimin looks up at him. The sparkler in his hand is slowly running out, the lights growing shorter and smaller.

Yoongi tucks his hands into his pockets and looks down at him.  _You can let me go now Jimin_ , he says, eyes dark and hooded.  _It’s time._

Jimin feels it catch in his throat again, that sensation. He doesn’t want to let go, but he knows now that he has to. The sparkler in his hand dies and he lets it drop to the ground in favor of rising upwards, hands outstretched and reaching for Yoongi’s wrists, and this time as his fingers curl around them they don’t go through.  _They touch_.

Yoongi’s eyes widen and his lips part and that is all Jimin sees before his mouth collides with Yoongi’s and their lips mould around one another, and this is the sweetest fire of them all. Golden and glorious and it’s been so long since Jimin has managed to touch Yoongi that everything aches.

His fingers that grip Yoongi’s wrists, his heart which doesn’t want to let go, his head which says he has to.

When he pulls away a fraction and opens his eyes Yoongi is still there, eyes dark and soft and so full of love and affection that Jimin feels like crying. But he doesn’t.

_Thank you for everything,_ Yoongi whispers and maybe Jimin’s imagining it but he feels like he can hear Yoongi’s voice, just the way it always was, low and soft and like velvet skies.  _Thank you for loving me the way you did._

Jimin can feel it now, the welling up of water in his chest, rising and rising and rising.

_I know you’ll be just fine,_ Yoongi says and his fingers curl around Jimin’s cheek, his touch a brush of clouds.  _You’re strong Park Jimin. You’ll walk just fine by yourself._

“It won’t be the same without you here,” Jimin all but sobs and his lashes are wet. Through the droplets he can see Yoongi smile, so wide that it must hurt.

_Such a crybaby,_  Yoongi teases and his finger wipes away at the teardrops.  _My crybaby._

“Yours,” Jimin agrees. “Always yours.”

Yoongi’s eyes soften at that.

Jimin feels something crack deep within, a fissure and the water is welling up and he is drowning in so many feelings that he wonders if he will ever breach the surface and breathe again.

But he can. He will. Maybe not today, but someday at least.

_I’ll be waiting,_  Yoongi whispers and his fingers curl into Jimin’s skin. Jimin puts his hand above Yoongi’s and holds its there tight, as if he can hold Yoongi down. But he can’t. Yoongi is a hot air balloon and he is rising far beyond Jimin’s reach.  _I’ll always be waiting. So take your time. Follow your dreams. Do whatever you want. Laugh, cry, sing, dance, I don’t care what you do as long as you are happy. So be happy, okay? If you’re happy, then I’m happy. Got it?_

“Got it,” Jimin breathes with the faintest hint of a laugh at the back. He closes his eyes as Yoongi leans forwards and presses himself in close to Jimin, warm and solid and reassuring.

_Good. Because I love you Park Jimin. And if you love me, then this is what you’ll do,_ Yoongi says, his words brushing against Jimin’s ear, and then those words spin and turn, tumbling into a gentle summer breeze that caresses Jimin’s cheek before spiraling far away into the sky.

And when Jimin opens his eyes, he can still feel the warmth in his hands, but Yoongi is gone and so is spring.

*

Yoongi breathes out in a shuddering exhale as he feels himself  _detach_. The world goes faint and white and it’s like a thousand dandelion seeds are floating around him, creating a cyclone of white that separates him from everything else.

Is this the afterworld? Or afterlife? Or wherever he was meant to end up? Because it’s well…pretty plain.

“About time,” comes a chiding voice and Yoongi spins to see Namjoon yawning, casually splayed out on a chair, one leg slung over the other.

“You!” Yoongi points.

“Yes, me,” Namjoon says and drops the leg, leaning forwards. “You took your time.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “And whose fault is that? Your ‘wiping memories’ theory sucked.”

“No it didn’t!” Namjoon protests. “Your two were just unhelpfully complicated.”

“Don’t blame Jimin for this,” Yoongi says warningly, going over to Namjoon.

“Yeah, yeah,” Namjoon waves him off and stands up. He looks good over here, wearing casual clothes and a loose grin on his face. He looks about a hundred degrees happier than when he was on Earth.

“Have you been waiting for me?” Yoongi asks.

Namjoon gives a light roll of his shoulders. “I did say I wanted to move on with you. I don’t go back on my word.”

Yoongi snorts. “Someone too afraid of seeing the big bad unknown on their own?” he teases.

Namjoon roll his eyes and bumps shoulders with Yoongi. “So, ready?” he asks.

Yoongi closes his eyes and imagines he can still feel the warmth of Jimin beneath his fingers, the sensation of his lips under his mouth. As he does so he feels like he’s suddenly connected to Jimin. He can feel his heartbeat, his gentle sorrow, the touch of the warm spring air on his skin.

Yoongi opens his eyes to see Namjoon watching him appraisingly.

“So this is death huh,” Yoongi says, looking at his hands and his fingers which look incredibly solid, but for the strangest fleck of white gold that seems to sparkle just underneath his skin.

Namjoon nods and gives a half smile. “That it is,” he says and Yoongi has the sneaking suspicion that Namjoon too can feel Seokjin when he closes his eyes.

“So what now?” Yoongi asks, looking around. The world is just white and there doesn’t seem much to do here. He certainly hopes eternity isn’t spent in boredom.

“Now?” Namjoon echoes. “Now I guess we explore, find out what this place is like. This isn’t all there is. It’s endless out there.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi raises his eyebrows, staring at the white expanse and then he realizes that if he concentrates, the world spreads out, forming shapes and figures and mountains that go on and on and on.

He reaches out and when he closes his eyes, he can feel the thrum of Jimin’s heart beat alongside himself. He’ll open his eyes and Namjoon will be there and all that is waiting beyond.

“So ready to find out what’s out there?” Namjoon asks again, and this time Yoongi cracks a grin and and takes the offered hand. 

*

Jimin awakens as the sun rises and the first of the birds are making their morning calls. He yawns and stretches, his spine cracking. He’s managed to fall asleep out here in the park all night. Surprisingly no police have asked him to move.

His phone buzzes and Jimin fumbles for it. He picks it up and it’s Seokjin.

The first thing Seokjin does is give a soft little sigh. “Well, you picked up, so at least you’re alive,” he says tartly. And oops, Jimin realizes he’s totally missed his midnight curfew. “Well I guess this is to be expected,” Seokjin continues. “So shall we go get breakfast?”

Jimin nods, then realizes Seokjin can’t see him, so he tells him it verbally and Jimin hears Hoseok in the background suggesting some place which Seokjin then relays to him. After he hangs up Jimin finds the location on his phone which is only about a ten minutes’ walk from the park, so he can take things casually and get there in time.

The morning weather is pleasantly warm, summer slowly sneaking in. Jimin folds up the blanket and throws away the used sparkler sticks. He doesn’t look back at the apartment. He’ll come back at another time to clear it out.

The walk to the café is pleasant, the city only just waking up, and Jimin thinks it’s a pretty sight to see people slowly coming out of their houses like snails out of their shells. It’s too early for chatter to be loud, so speech fills the air in a murmur, like the trickle of a stream and Jimin finds himself slowing down and stretching the ten minute walk into a half an hour one just so he can appreciate everything.

He gets to the café a little late, and from outside he can see Hoseok and Seokjin have already claimed a long bench like table. Jungkook is there in a soft hoodie, yawning, his fingers wrapped around a pitch black coffee. Taehyung is face down onto the wooden table, snoring, with Hoseok’s fingers in his hair, gently combing out the tangles. Seokjin has his chin propped in his hand and smiles gently at them all over a platter of pancakes.

Jimin stops for a moment outside the window, just wanting to soak in this moment, this knowledge that he has friends and they are right there. Yoongi’s right: he’s not alone, and he never will be.

Then Jungkook spies him and waves. Seokjin turns at Jungkook’s action and when he catches sight of Jimin, beckons at him to get in. Hoseok beams and shakes Taehyung shoulder to try and get him to wake up, but of course to no avail.

And Jimin finds himself smiling without realizing. That’s the best kind.

Then, as he steps forwards, his hand coming down onto the handle, a warm breeze blows. It makes Jimin pause and turn into the caress of it, and for a second Jimin images the wrap of arms around his shoulders and the whisper of lips against his cheek.  _I’ll always be watching over you_ , the wind seems to whisper and then, a blink and a rub of the eyes later, it’s all gone and Jimin has to wonder if he’s imagining things again.

But on second thought, maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all.

His heart aches, a note of bittersweet, and Jimin relishes in the sensation as he brings his hand firmly down onto the handle and opens the door. It feels rough under his palm, a dozen other hands having touched it before him. A bell chimes and the sound feels magnified. Beyond that he can hear Hoseok calling at him to hurry up and order.

Jimin feels like he’s woken up from a hundred year sleep. Every sensation feels new and exciting, and Jimin feels like he has never appreciated being alive as much as he does now.

He can smell the coffee beans in the air and feel the warmth of the café heat on his skin. He has friends waiting for him just a footstep away and someone even more special watching over him from above.

Yoongi’s right. He can walk just fine. He’s strong, he’s happy, he’s  _loved_.

“Hurry up,” Taehyung mumbles as his hands search for coffee and Jimin breaks out into grin so broad at the sight that it feels like it’s going to crack his face into two. He lets his feet carry himself forwards, the stone pendant at his neck shifting and bumping as he walks, and as he sits down and Hoseok nudges his shoulder amicably and Seokjin offers him a forkful of his pancakes, Jimin can’t help but feel anything but happy.

_If you’re happy, then I’m happy. Got it?_

Got it, Jimin thinks. Because if this is his tomorrow then he has no complaints. Happiness, sadness, everything in between. He’ll take it with open arms, and then some more.

****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has stuck around for so long and put up with my ridiculously slow updates, thank you. Like a hundred times thank you. With that said this story has finally come to an end. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. 
> 
> Merry Christmas and holiday cheers.


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